A Study in Solar
by Trynia Merin
Summary: SH22 HxL: Holmes has a lot to learn about astronomy, and when a solar yacht goes up in flames, he and Lestrade put his learning to the test firsthand...
1. Prologue

**A Study In Solar**

**by Trynia Merin**

**Prologue**

_I don't own any of these characters, but I only recently stumbled across this cartoon, and I think it's excellent! I've followed Mummies Alive, another masterpiece by DIC, and since I've done some fanfic for that cartoon, I am trying my hand at SH22. Read and review please. I'm not sure where this will go, and it's my first shot, but having read some of the great stuff on the page already, I couldn't help but give it a try._

_Note that this story has been edited and divided into several different chapters to ease in storytelling!_

* * *

"Honestly, how do you expect me to even begin to try and teach you ANYTHING about this case if you don't even know basic astronomy? ZED!" complained the spirited lady cop. Frustrated, she chewed her lip and paced back and forth, with her arms across her chest. 

The object of her tirade simply crossed his narrow knees and leaned forward on his chair, shaking his head as he drew in a deep breath. Bluish gray eyes fixed on hers, and he struggled to grip his self-control. What it was about this woman that drove him mad, Holmes wondered. Inhaling again he cleared his throat and said, "My dear Lestrade, in MY day astronomy was HARDLY a subject I wasted my efforts upon. The planets and sun could orbit the EARTH for all I am concerned..."

"Well GET with the 22nd century Holmes," Lestrade whirled on him, her dark hair cascading around her shapely face. In her features he saw a hint of her predecessor, and perhaps that was the start of his tension. Holmes felt his blood pressure rising.

"As I recall, My DEAR Lestrade, it was not I who brought me into this time," he huffed, a puff of air fluffing up the bit of reddish blonde hair that had slipped down over his forehead. Much like Lestrade he folded his arms over his chest and bit his lip, mumbling to himself.

"All right," Lestrade relented, after mentally counting to ten. "Now, here is a vid about astronomy. It should be basic enough for you... I should have KNONW this zed forsaken problem would come up SOONER instead of later..."

"Lestrade, I know that this must have bearing on the case," Holmes sighed. "But you must have patience. Even a great detective must know all the facts, and an inspector like you must know that..."

"Sometimes I wonder WHY I bothered bringing you back," Lestrade muttered under her breath as she tossed the disk at Holmes.

The detectivecaught it neatly between his long slender fingers. Although Holmes heard her comment, he declined to return it, considering it looked as if the lady inspector had a tough day. He had heard the verbal tongue-lashings that Chief Inspector Grayson bestowed on his superior officer, and knew it wasn't easy dealing with his sparkling personality.

"Since you insisted on bringing me back," Holmes sighed as he slipped on the videophones and inserted the disc neatly into its compartment. "I suggest we calm ourselves since we MUST work together… since you insisted on having me work UNDER you as I recall… which your decision was."

"If you say I made my bed and now I have to lie in it…" Lestrade snapped as she whirled on him, her cheeks flushed red with anger.

Holmes raised an eyebrow under his videophones at her suggestion, and she could see the tips of his ears turn red with the start of a blush. He cleared his throat and crossed and uncrossed his legs, as if shifting to get more comfortable in the chair, and paid attention to the vid, "Most remarkable… the sun DOES sit at the center of the solar system…"

"Zed," Lestrade rolled her eyes.

"LESTRADE!" came a voice from her wrist COM. Sighing again she lifted the videocom to her mouth and punched the link to see the image of her chief bane… er inspector swirl into the greenblue LCD screen.

"Lestrade here, talk to me…"

"There is a CRIME in progress and I don't need you lollygagging about! I need ANSWERS, and I need them now? Is your deceased PI going to spill or not?"

"I'm filling him in now inspector…"

"Well get a wiggle on and get BACK here straightaway, Lestrade! The CEO of Nusolar is here chewing me ARSE red, and how am I supposed to explain to him that the YARD is being held up in its investigation by you?"

"All RIGHT already, zed, I'll be there…" she mumbled.

"Haven't you checked out the warehouse on pier 57 YET? A new break-in happened just ten minutes ago… and…"

"I'll be there!" Lestrade snapped as she punched the button and banished the image of the chief inspector into blackness.

"He shouldn't yell at you," Holmes said softly, though his eyes were veiled by the videophones, and his fingers were steepled before him as he rested his elbows on his folded legs.

"I get used to it," Lestrade shrugged as she turned back.

"Still, since you ARE one of his top inspectors…" Holmes started, and then stopped as Lestrade opened her mouth at the left-handed compliment.

"Why Holmes was that something NICE you said?" Lestrade asked with a lopsided grin as she took the videophones and whisked them off his face.

"Ah, ah, I'm learning astronomy," Holmes waggled a long finger at her as he tried o reach the videophones.

"Admit it…" Lestrade grinned, holding them just out of his reach.

"Blast you… I need those…" Holmes groaned as he leapt out of his chair and Lestrade leapt out of the way.

"What will you do for them?" she teased as she dangled them before him.

"Oh, so the game is afoot, is it?" Holmes said as he saw the mischievous twinkle in her eyes. He realized she needed a game to keep the commissioner off her mind, and decided to play along.

"C'mon Holmes, show me what you got… show me that 200 years in honey hasn't slowed the world's greatest detective down…"

"I suggest you be very careful what you ask for, my dear Lestrade," Holmes said as he reached down at his left side, and Lestrade again dangled the phones before him.

As she playfully swept out her foot, Holmes jumped over it, and then she saw the whisk of his cane slip under. She toppled off balance and flipped over onto her hand to toss the phones over his shoulder. Holmes snagged the videophones with the end of his cane and whisked them as Lestrade suddenly shouldered into his knees. He flipped back and brought up his hand to block her playful cuff to his chin, and then they were standing apart, breaching as they stood in fighting stances.

"Not bad, but can you beat this?" Lestrade laughed as she flipped forwards, and her leg shot out towards him.

Holmes ducked and then spun his cane around to land almost inches from her head as she landed again, and her hand flashed out to counter. Grabbing the end of his cane she thrust her arm forward and Holmes blocked wit his hand, but Lestrade still held the end of his cane. Their eyes locked and he smiled, excited by the sparring.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Holmes asked.

"What?" she asked. "Got anything ELSE that you have from 200 years ago…"

"Your major bane… er… boss is expecting you," said Holmes with a wry grin as Lestrade still held the end of his cane and he twisted it around again out of her grasp.

Tension breaking they parted, and faced one another to see what move the other would make. Lestrade anticipated as Holmes held his cane back and his hand forward and she mirrored his movements, leaping onto the sofa as he swung round, and then she thrust her hand forward. Holmes leaned in as she leapt forward, and the cane lightly passed under to trip her off balance.

"Yeow!" Lestrade gasped as she sailed forwards and almost ended up a heap on the floor. The rug slipped on the hardwood floor, and Holmes slid forwards, onto his backside in an undignified heap, with Lestrade pinning him down.

"Whoolf!" Holmes got out as they lay in a tangle together, the breath knocked out of both of them. She lie across his lean, muscular body, and suddenly felt the warmth under her, her heart pounding a mile a minute as she struggled to press her hand against the floor.

"I say Holmes, there is someone at the door to see you…" came Watson's voice, and both Holmes and Lestrade came to their senses.

"Oh zed, sorry…" Lestrade gasped as she lifted herself off of Holmes and he lay there, partly stunned.

"I'm dreadfully sorry," he gasped, feeling extremely awkward with Lestrade's body pinning him down. Nervously he squirmed under her and she quickly rolled off of him, seeing the flush come to his cheeks.

"I'd uh… better get to the chief inspector before he has my butt… er me for breakfast," said Lestrade.

"Quite," Holmes nodded as he scrambled to his feet with the aid of his cane and extended his hand to help Lestrade up. She took his hand in her gloved one, and was glad of the material between them, because she felt her palm sweating.

"Holmes, there is a lady caller… she says she's the owner of the Bonnie Prince Charlie," said Watson. "And she was referred to you by Lestrade…"

"Um that's the... Um…" Lestrade got out, pushing her hair out of her face as she turned around quickly.

"The lady whose solar yacht had a rather unfortunate accident… namely that it never got out of the space dock," Holmes answered for her. "Rather it was the failure in the solar sail?"

"Right," Lestrade nodded.

"Shall I let her in?" Watson asked.

"Yes, do," said Holmes, taking out his handkerchief and dabbing the sweat from his forehead.

"I'll see you both later," Lestrade said quickly as she moved past Watson, who seemed a bit surprised at her haste to leave. "Can't keep the chief waiting you know… heh heh."

"What the deuce is wrong with Lestrade?' asked Watson as he turned and faced Holmes, his metallic body gleaming in the light of the overhead chandelier. "My metabolic scanner picked up an elevated heart rate and…"

"We were… practicing some sparring moves," Holmes got out, before he realized how silly that sounded. "Don't ask Watson. Rather, let us meet our new client… and we can see how much you've learned from me in the process of deduction…"

"Indeed," said Watson as he moved off to answer the door.

* * *


	2. The Space Resort

**A study in solar… and other things…**

**by Trynia Merin**

**Part 1 The Space Resort**

_I don't own any of these characters, but I only recently stumbled across this cartoon, and I think it's excellent! I've followed Mummies Alive, another masterpiece by DIC, and since I've done some fanfic for that cartoon, I am trying my hand at SH22. Read and review please. I'm not sure where this will go, and it's my first shot, but having read some of the great stuff on the page already, I couldn't help but give it a try.

* * *

_

From the window Holmes could see the buzz of cars whirring about at both street and multi levels. The hum of hover engines had replaced the clopping of hooves on pavement and the occasional snort and neigh of a carriage horse or handsome, and it was a sound he missed sorely. As he pulled back the curtain, he saw Lestrade walking quickly to her hover car parked on the side of the street and he heard the honking of an impatient cab driver as he shook his fist and leaned out the window at Lestrade.

She shook her fist back at him and whipped out what appeared to be a citation pad, which she filled out and showed to the impatient driver before leaping into her hover car with a slam of the door. He turned at the sound of footsteps on the seventeen steps leading up to his office and reception room, and realized the lightness of the steps indicated a woman's pace, followed by the heavier vibrations in the floor from what must be Watson's stance. Pulling his momentary distraction about Lestrade's odd behavior as of late, he turned to face the middle aged client that stood and peered at him intently from over Watson's shoulder.

"May I present Countess Lorraine D' Armanda-Stuart," said Watson. Shrugging off his pursuit of Lestrade's sudden clumsiness, he turned to greet his client. Time for business again.

Watson maneuvered the hovercraft coach into position by the entrance to the shipping company's assembly shop. They both were escorted by the receptionist to the scene of the accident, and glanced around for clues. Their patron was also with them, filling it whatever she could provide to Holmes questions.

"So this is where the accident happened?" Holmes asked, glancing at a particular microcircuit through his magnifying glass. Watson had plugged his modem into the database, and was perusing the records of all the yachts and craft built in the last few months for any other such accidents.

"Oui, Monsieur Holmes," the lady nodded.

"It is the third such accident in six months," the vice president shook his head. "I must apologize again, Madame..."

"Is there anything left that you can salvage?" she asked.

"The entire craft will have to be reworked. And the solar sailcloth is suddenly hard to come by. I had decided to stop using Nusolar, and go back to my other suppliers, but unfortunately Nusolar is the only material that isn't sold out..."

"Interesting," Holmes muttered. "Is this the microcircuit of the power converter?"

"Yes," nodded the VP. "You can see the omega circuit, which controls power transfer from the sails to the solar dynamo has been fused by the explosion..."

"Holmes, this is the same sort of accident that has happened to the last three craft," Watson said as he looked up from the terminal on the engineering console.

"If this keeps up, my business will be ruined..." the VP wrung his hands.

"When did these... accidents start happening?" Holmes asked. "And were there any other bits of hardware affected?"

"The omega circuit and the artificial gravity generator," said the VP. "The more expensive models have an electrostatic generator that makes a 0.5 gee field. The inexpensive craft have a rotating drum in their midsection."

"And each one of the crafts had the same accident?" Holmes asked. "Have there been any changes of personnel in the last six months?"

"Only two. One of them had formerly worked for Solarex..."

"What made you decide to use Nusolar?" asked Holmes.

"They offered us a contract, and they provided the fastest service. The older models and amateur craft sails have never had a problem. It's only been the Chinook series..."

"The most expensive models?" Watson murmured. "I am intrigued about the names of all the craft. They all seem to be from Celtic History..."

"Good observation Watson," said Holmes. "Your choice of the Bonnie Prince Charlie... Madame. It would possibly indicate a personal interest, considering your cousin's yacht was the William Wallace..."

"Perhaps a Scottish ancestor from the Jacobite rebellion who had left for France?" Watson asked.

"Oui Dr. Watson. Most do not pick up on such a detail. My ancestors were sympathetic toward the jacobites, in fact there was intermarriage between the Stuarts and the French side of my family for several generations after Culloden Moor... it is not a coincidence that their name is tied to the Armanda..."

"When was the William Wallace constructed?"

"That was the first in the Chinook class," Mr. Crossfield said. "Three years ago... we built that..."

"And the William Wallace is till operational?" asked Holmes.

"Indeed," nodded the VP and Madame Armanda-Stuart.

"What sort of sail did it use?" Holmes asked the VP.

"Solarex," said Mr. Crossfield, typing up the file on the small console to his left. Watson moved next to him and glanced along with Holmes. "But I fail to see why that's important..."

"On the contrary, it is of significance since you stopped using Solarex two years ago," Holmes said. "And the Bonnie Prince Charlie was constructed nine months ago, and only just recently tested for full flight capability..."

"Well, I still fail to see," said the VP.

"Interesting. I've seen all I need here," said Holmes. "Thank you very much..."

"Would you like to see the dock itself?"

"No thank you," Holmes said.

"But surely where the explosion happened would be of interest?" Watson asked.

"Undoubtedly, this is why I'm asking you Watson to attend to that little detail. I have another lead I would like to pursue..."

"I'm admiring your trust in my abilities," Watson said, flattered as Holmes handed him the notepad he'd been writing on.

"A test of your deductive skills, my dear Watson," Holmes smiled. "Madame, I would be honored to escort you back to your apartment. I still have a few more questions and a request..."

"Of course Monsieur Holmes," said Madame Armanda-Stuart. The VP looked at Watson, and back at Holmes in question.

"Dr. Watson, my assistant will be continuing the investigation here, Mr. Crossfield," Holmes said. "I trust you can cooperate with any of his requests?"

"Of course," nodded Mr. Crossfield. "Deanne, show Mr. Holmes and Madame out please?"

"Sir you have another call from Nusolar," Deanna said.

"I'll take it in my office," he said as Deanne, the receptionist showed them out. Watson watched Holmes leave, and followed the VP out to the workshop. A young engineer, with streaked yellow and green hair, with the name badge Rossini accidentally brushed past, and Holmes noticed his uniform was stained on the inner parts of his sleeve. Quickly he ducked into the lab, and Holmes rubbed his chin.

As they exited to the street, the hover cabs and other traffic whizzed by, and Madame Armanda-Stuart turned to Holmes, asking, "What was that request you were to ask of me?"

"First a question. Where is the Wallace berthed?" Holmes asked as the chill of the afternoon set into evening, and the wind whipped his Inverness around his legs, and puffed out the synthetic mink coat that Madame Armanda-Stuart was wearing. She shivered and glanced back and forth, before looking at Holmes again.

"It is at the Clarke space Resort… the one with the Hilton that my family owns a share in. I sit on the board of directors… and my cousin is the charter member of the yachting club, which meets there regularly between journeys…" she said.

"Would it be possible for me to charter the Wallace for a cruise?" Holmes asked. "I am just learning about astronomy, and possibly I would like to see how such a craft operates…"

"Of course, Monsieur Holmes," she nodded.

"How can I contact your cousin?" he asked.

"I would be honored to contact him myself, and have him ready you for a cruise tomorrow morning. My Leer shuttle can be readied at the New London Gatwick spaceport tomorrow to take you to the Resort," said Madame Armanda-Stuart. "I am certain my cousin would be honored to have you aboard. He's quite a fan of yours…"

"Is he?" Holmes asked with an amused smile. There came the honk of a horn, and another cold slice of wind whipped through them, making Holmes stand gallantly between Madame Armanda-Stuart and the street to shield her from the gust. Her hat blew off, and he snagged it quickly with his cane to return it to her.

"Merci," she gasped, putting it back on. "It is windy! Those hover cars are getting worse…"

"I am sure I know the reason why," Holmes muttered as he saw the craft hairpin turn and whiz back to screech to a stop only six inches from where they stood. He hung onto his deerstalker tightly with both hands as the craft's door opened.

"THERE you are!" Lestrade said, sliding out. "I thought you'd be here…"

"Ah, Inspector… just in time," said Holmes. "Watson is continuing the investigation here… and I was wondering if you wouldn't mind terribly taking me back to Baker Street. And I must secure a cab for the Madame…"

"Inspector," she nodded.

"Ma'am," nodded Lestrade. Holmes took a step into the street, and waved at a yellow craft that was sitting nearby. It backed up and opened its door.

"Where to guvner?" asked the driver cheerfully.

"It is not for me sir, but for the lady," he indicated Madame Armanda-Stuart.

"Cor, you're Sherlock Holmes right enough. I've seen your picture in the E-Mirror!"

"Holmes get a move on," Lestrade mumbled.

"Thank you very much Monsieur Holmes," smiled Madame charmingly as he opened the door for her and helped her in. He pressed a kiss to her hand, and Lestrade tapped her foot impatiently before the cab door closed, and whizzed off down with a gentle hum of its antigravity engines.

"What was that all about?" Lestrade asked. "Wasting your time here when you should be at Nusolar…"

"These two cases are related, Inspector," Holmes corrected her as he straightened his deerstalker. "And I am investigating a most promising lead."

"Well tomorrow we're going to interview a couple of the other yacht owners," Lestrade said. "So when do I pick you up?"

"On the contrary I shall be occupied…"

"Say what?" Lestrade asked.

"I have chartered the William Wallace for a cruise… to learn more about astronomy firsthand…" Holmes said with a twinkle in his eye.

"We've got Nusolar bugging Grayson who's on MY back and you want to go sailing?" Lestrade folded her arms across her chest. "Holmes have you lost your gray matter?"

"My brain is as sharp as ever, Lestrade," he said. "I simply wish to see such a craft in action…"

"Well if you're going sailing, I'm coming along," Lestrade sighed. "Ask me it's a waste of time, but you're probably going to prove me wrong ANYWAY like you always do…"

"We shall see Lestrade," he smiled as he opened the door for her and she looked at him doubtfully.

"No, you are NOT driving," she said.

"Lestrade, you wound me… I HAVE been practicing," Holmes said, in a mock pout.

"Move over. This is a NEW hover car, and the Chief inspector has already ripped me a new… I mean he's already hassled me enough today," Lestrade sighed.

Holmes relented and let her get behind the wheel, closing the door before crossing around the front to enter on the passenger side. He gripped the ornamental handle on the side of the coach as she gunned the ignition and peeled out into the main traffic flow with a surge of ions trailing behind her, whizzing around the cab, which was taking Madame Armanda-Stuart back in the same direction.

* * *

The expansive lobby spread out in many directions, its walls lined with ultra modern pastel plastic and shiny brass. Squares of rich carpet separated by strips of astro-turf spanned the floor underfoot. Along the walls periodically of the hallways were small electronic computer terminals used for patron convenience. A resident could punch up a floor plan of any level of the hotel, could ring up any specific info pertaining to hotel accommodations, or even see videos describing activities occurring at the resort.

Guests and last minute walk-ins bustled past a long reception desk fabricated from plastic, its front surface inlaid with squares of bogus marble. Some VIP guests, such as the participants involved in the Interstellar Scottish Festival, and the Global Cricket convention already had booked reservations far in advance. They could simply just check into their suites. Other people, such as overnight visitors, or walk-ins who missed the last shuttle, had to wait in line to process a double room request. Lately, due to the number of last minute room requests, reservations took a long time to process.

Various shops and businesses lined main hallways of the first level. Video game arcades and snack bars were packed with the latest walk-ins, waiting anxiously to find out if there were any rooms vacant in the crammed Space Resort hotels. Inside of one refreshment bar sat one patron, at his table right beside the glass window.

_Ye Old Malt Shop_ was written in swirling cursive reverse inside of the large window. Slowly he sipped his milkshake as he kept one eye glued to the long lines of people forming outside. His clothing was distinct; a brown coat half belted, a pullover sweater underneath, topped with a paisley tie. On the back of his chair hung a cane, decidedly Victorian.

Some of the travelers carried instrument cases, and drums. One or two even wore caps and bonnets with their clan pins fastened to them. They stopped to admire Holmes deerstalker and Inverness, and he tipped his hat to them. They sat down at a table nearby, next to another member, who was also dressed in a long plaid and sporran, as a young Highlander. Unlike the first two, who wore a twentieth century kilt with ceremonial black jackets complete with silver buttons, the third wore a lovely loose peasant blouse and a leather bandoleer strap. A faded gunnysack was plunked on the floor under the table beside him.

Holmes grumbled as he noticed milk splattering onto his pants. Carefully he caught the drops with his handkerchief, before they soaked into the fabric covering his thigh. Picking up a newspaper on the glass-topped table, he skimmed it hastily. "Where in the world is the technology' section?" he muttered. It was a novelty in this century to have a paper copy of a newspaper to read. This station supplied novelties by the dozen.

On the other side of the window, people hurried left and right. Across from the refreshment, court was a series of reservation terminals. Hunched over one of the terminals, a brown-haired woman intently depressed tan keys. Flashing letters on the monitor reflected backward messages on her glasses. One button rang up the floor plan of the lobby's AA wing. Another try and statistics revealed the current number of visitors presently registered in the hotel.

"They said at the desk it would be a matter of minutes," she stated matter-of-factly.

At the main entrance from the Spaceport, the transparent glass doors flew open. Several strings of gentlemen wearing multicolored cable knit sweaters and sun visors wandered in. Glancing up from her terminal, the woman noted these chattering knots of athletically dressed men. Each carried a duffel bag and a cricket bat in hand. "Could be members of the Cricket tourney? Or was it racquetball?" she thought. "Must have just arrived on the latest shuttle from Port Ghana on Earth."

One of the cricketers conversed about the weather with a man in a cherry red polo sweater. As he passed her, the cricketer raised his red-brimmed straw hat politely to her. Was it a sprig of celery she saw pinned to his lapel of his corduroy jacket with red piping?

"I tell you, Riana. It's nothing to miss! Ye gotta come to Robbie Burns tribute!"

"I'm here to relax, kid! I just met this really cool guy, and you had to come over and botch it up!"

"Do ye call someone wearing a half pound of leather and feathers, and a crazy smell cool?"

Lestrade turned from the terminal toward the direction of the two young voices. That girl wearing the silver and French braided hair was unfamiliar, but it could be a coincidence. The young teenaged boy wearing the kilt and cable-knit sweater was unfamiliar though. From the Hotel Lobby with the shops they walked, arguing. "There'll be plenty of bonnie gents at the Festival, Riana. Besides, some of the women think men in kilts are, sexy?"

"That may be, but they aren't my type."

"How do ye know?"

"I think Scots culture is cool, and all. But mixing and mingling with a bunch of grown ups in suits and ties just strikes me cold."

"Okay. I should have guessed. But make sure ye dinna miss some of the other great stuff! Like the Games."

"I promise I'll go to at least two events at the Fest, okay?"

"It's a deal," she nodded, and headed off from the redhead. Both of them stopped when they saw Lestrade at the terminal.

"What's a Yardie doing here?" the red headed woman asked the Scottish gentleman standing next to her. Her eyes fell on Lestrade as if trying to recall who she was. But Lestrade was already on her way to rendezvous with Holmes at the coffee shop.

"Someone you know?" Hamish Cameron asked Melanie Rush.

"That looked like Beth Lestrade, my college roommate," she muttered. "Wait here…"

* * *


	3. Tribute to Robbie Burns

**A Study in Solar**

**_Part 2_**

By Trynia Merin

Edited version.

* * *

The vast **Space Resort** lobby was a virtual hive of activity. It was interlinked with the Spaceport via a series of corridors. When she first spotted the **Resort** from the outside, she was impressed. Built in 2045, this marvelous cylinder contained a full size shopping plaza, a Spaceport, three hotels, and even a full size golf course. Pieces were added onto the giant cylinder rotating one hundred miles above earth's surface. It orbited Earth every twelve hours, like the Space shuttles of the late twentieth century.

Now, in 2103, the **Space Resort** became the primary stop for business travelers. It had been the first hotel of that type, and was still the most popular. Even with the launch and construction of the Econolodge, and the Whetstone Astoria. There was allure in visiting the earth's first Space Resort.

Of course, most people when they wanted to stay in Space just went to a resort on the Moon. The one-sixth Gees was a commercial gimmick for people to "take the load off their feet," and "live like Hercules" for a week.

Mostly the **Resort** served as a relay for people coming to Earth and departing from Earth. Much like Newark Airport or Heathrow, it was just a stop along the way. Business conventions still loved holding meetings here and conventions were a must. If reservations weren't made a week or month in advance, travelers would find themselves without a room. Instead, they'd have to sack out on a guest couch for a layover.

Various hotel units existed side by side. There was the rich section, closer to the golf courses and parks. Then there were the moderate sections, financed by Holiday Inn, and Ramada. Finally, closest to the Spaceport, were the Motel-6 type accommodations. These were virtual shoeboxes just feet from the central corridor.

Back in _Ye Old Malt Shop_, the man in the brown Inverness coat and deerstalker slowly lowered his paper. Through the reversed letters on the window, he saw a brown-haired girl waving to him. Instantly, he signaled her with a raised hand. As she approached, he lowered his newspaper. "Anything to report?" he asked.

"You look like you've made yourself at home," she replied, drawing the chair opposite. She sat. "Sorry I've taken so long."

"Not long enough for me to have found the technology' section of this silly newspaper."

Lestrade frowned. Ever since they'd arrived, her Partner seemed preoccupied with thought. His petty complaints about the newspaper alerted her, plus his complaints regarding the inadequacy of his supply of astro-credits. Both were a subterfuge for something far more disturbing.

"Holmes, you've been in a funk. This weird state of behavior since we arrived. Is there something on your mind, or what? I mean you were excited to take a spin on that yacht and now you're on cloud three… in a fog."

"Just pondering old memories, not to worry."

Before they could talk further, she stopped. Following her gaze, the Detective saw her eyes fall on a red headed woman in a silvery dress walking into the refreshment bar. She glared at the manager.

"Zed!" cried Lestrade. Holmes noticed her staring right past them, to the entrance of the bar. "I don't believe it!"

"What?" asked Holmes annoyed that he interrupted.

"Lizzie!" beamed Mel, waltzing into the restaurant with her arms held out in front of her. Curly red hair cascaded around her sloping shoulders. Immediately the Inspector rose from her chair, and rushed to meet her. The two old friends hugged each other gladly.

"I'd never thought I'd see you here," she began, patting her back.

"You been keeping out of mischief?" Mel asked Beth.

"Not likely," said Lestrade. "Where the blazes did you pop up from? I thought you were on Galileo City with your boyfriend Hector."

"He and I had a falling out. So, I told him to drop me off at the nearest space station. And wouldn't you know they had an opening for a computer technician. Naturally I applied."

For a moment, Holmes glanced up, watching the two women as they stepped back. Beth and Mel hugged each other; scarcely believing the other was there. "I don't believe it, Melly. Like, this is the last place in the Galaxy I thought I'd see you."

"Who's your friend?" Mel asked, poking a thumb in the detective's direction. Sherlock Holmes felt like an outsider to all these rapturous reunions. Lestrade had so many friends that he suddenly began to grasp the strange impact the inspector's casework left on so many lives. Traveling around the city of New London and the other cases worldwide, a Scotland Yard inspector was bound to run into old friends sooner or later.

"I must comment Lestrade, this is quite a reunion?" he asked casually.

"Oh, Mel, this is Sherlock Holmes," she said. "He's working for us on the latest case…"

"Zed," gasped Mel. "So it isn't the tabloids. You really DID bring him back to life!"

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss…" he said, taking her hand gallantly as he rose from the chair.

"This is my old college roomie, Melanie Rush," said Beth Lestrade.

"And I put up with Beth's collection of mystery stuff. You know Mr. Holmes; she had a whole wall plastered with posters of…"

"Mel," she cautioned her. "Get over it. You were just wierded out it wasn't Ricky Rockett like you were gaga over…"

"Too right," Mel laughed, her exotic English accent sounding strange compared to Lestrade.

"Is there a Robert Burns tribute going on?" Holmes asked. "It would seem evident by the number of patrons I saw whilst going in when we arrived…"

"Oh, the Earl of Cameron's having a shindig," Mel said with a dismissive wave. "They do it every year. And then he has the great sailing of the solar yacht group… out to the asteroids and back…"

"Really?" Holmes raised an eyebrow. "Is it an annual event?"

"Yep. Every year in January the whole Scottish Anachronistic society meets here takes up two ballrooms and its bagpipes and drums. And then they bring their oil lanterns, which are a natural fire hazard… and voila…"

"Most intriguing. I say Lestrade; I think it would be interesting to stay for the festivities. Are they tonight? I had just had a call from Madame Stuart Amanda that the yacht would be delayed till later tonight…"

"Holmes, I thought we had an investigation," Lestrade groaned.

"We might hear a scrap of evidence to shed light on this case," Holmes protested. "After all, there are the Scottish renactors here, and doesn't it strike you as a coincidence that these other power failures are related to patrons who all are Scottish descent… all yacht owners?"

"That's a wild guess," Lestrade rolled her eyes. "And if I DO go to a dinner what on earth do I wear?"

"Not a problem," Mel said. "I can get you tickets. And you can pick an outfit from my wardrobe. We are about the same size. C'mon it will be fun."

"Fine, you win," she relented as Holmes smiled.

"I'll meet you back here this evening then whilst you ladies freshen up," he tipped his hat to them. Lestrade sighed and let Mel lead her off to the apartments, realizing she wasn't going to win this argument. Besides it was a chance to catch up on old times.

Tables had been moved to the boarders of the vast floor. All around were old-fashioned props, such as oil lanterns and model weapons. Someone had gone to great lengths yet again to duplicate a piece of Scotland onto this station. Those who weren't dancing sat at the peripheral tables chatting together. Beer, wine, soda, and other beverages passed freely around the room. Men and women imbibed in all manner of entrees, from fruit to fine Walker's shortbread.

Mel spun from partner to partner. One moment she was with Hamish, the next with another fair person. Men and women danced together, all laughing and shouting.

Amidst the storm of dancers, Lestrade found a seat at a table. None of this could she relate to. Before long, other panting women clustered around the same table at breaks in the music. Right next to Lestrade sat a woman, about her age. Long hair was tucked meticulously into a chignon atop her head. Just her bare shoulders and chest were visible. She wore long silken gloves on her hands that came up past her elbows. And those off the shoulder puffed sleeves and layers of lace were beautiful. All around the chair spilled her long full hoopskirt, from an era long gone. Only a few other women were dressed as she.

"I say. That's a lovely dress," said Lestrade.

"Thank you."

"Especially an authentic replica of a nineteenth century . . ."

She smiled. "I rather like yours. Especially the ruffles."

"Oh this? I borrowed it from a friend."

"Is that the latest style here?"

"It depends, since nobody here is wearing the latest style anyway."

Both girls looked at each other, and started to laugh. Beautiful blue eyes twinkled at her brown ones. When Lestrade realized the humor in where they were. Indeed, at the Festival, people were wearing garb from many centuries.

From the stage came a voice, enhanced with a remote control mike. A long and complicated list of welcomes was stated, as well as some credits.

"And now to lead us in our next dance, a featured performer. Straight from the heart of our fair land itself, Hamish Andrew McPherson will make mere sound into music with his violin." To her surprise, Lestrade saw Hamish seated on the raised platform, next to other important looking people. Standing, he raised an old-fashioned violin to his chin. For a teenaged boy, he carried himself with remarkable dignity. Unlike many violinists, who played a steel framed electronic instrument; his was genuine cured wood. With fine strings and rosin. Fingers moved almost magically across strings for five minutes of a classical ballad.

Then grinning, he began to pick up the tempo. Bridged the gap into a fast jig. People stopped talking, and started dancing madly across the floor. Someone swept the Victorian dressed girl from beside Lestrade, and whirled her out. It occurred to her that perhaps this was a member of that anti technology society, albeit a tamer one, that Holmes had encountered with the five pips business. One of those souls who decided the nineteenth century was the epitome of greatness. Sighing, she glanced around, muttering, "Holmes where ARE you?"

Flutes interwove with Hamish's violin. In spite of herself, Lestrade couldn't keep her toes from tapping. Usually she listened to the rock, techno and contemporary jazz popular in the twenty-second century. Scottish jigs didn't normally convince her to dance. Because this music was live, she couldn't resist jumping up. Carefully she watched everyone around her, copying the light toe action with extreme grace. This music begged her to frolic, to shed her twenty-second century inhibition. It transported her to glens and fields, and coastlines surging with foam.

"I wondered when you'd get up!" Mel laughed as she danced with the handsome young men in kilts.

"I don't know how!" Lestrade laughed. But soon a few young men grabbed her hand, and whirled her around. From one young man to another she was tossed. Partners switched every five seconds, or every turn. Lestrade began to get dizzy. Her chest ached from the laughing beat of her heart. Never had she felt so alive. Stars and tartan whirled around her.

Then it was all over. Triple hums of pipe drones filled the silence. Snare drums rattled staccato cadences. Lestrade wanted to cringe when she realized the pipers were playing. Yet, the ballroom echoed with the strange wailing nine-note melodies. People began to perform what looked like a dancing-free-for-all. Lestrade gasped as a brawny legged fellow bowed before her. "No thanks…I don't know how."

Slightly miffed, the fellow walked on. Mel sighed and swept him up instantly.

Feeling self conscious, Lestrade wrung her hands. That is until a familiar voice spoke over her shoulder. "Care to dance, my dear Inspector"

"Oh, its you," she said, looking up. Lestrade spun, to see Holmes standing there, minus Inverness and hat, wearing a more formal dinner coat, very Victorian, with his usual vest and tie. He looked elegant and fresh in his outfit, and Lestrade felt a jolt of something shiver through her. His gray eyes seemed fixed on her, but she dared wonder if he was admiring her as much as she was admiring him.

"That's not much of a how do you do," he laughed. "Why so reserved?"

"I don't know how to dance to this music."

"It's frightfully simple… elementary," he said.

"I didn't think you danced," she lied, but knew that her heart was fluttering. She took his hand, and their skin touched as Holmes led her out onto the floor.

"What is this dance?" Lestrade asked.

"A jig. A quick one-two-three," he explained. "Here, follow me."

Grasping Lestrade's hands, he led her onto the varnished floor. Out into the sea of tartans and fine linens. Back into a time of dance cards and gaiety. Where ultramodern met archaic.

"Now watch my feet. Start with the left, while I start with the right. Put your hand on my shoulder, and grasp my other. Jig, a dance originating in French renaissance times . . ."

Lestrade let herself be led. She pushed her toes against his, barely managing to keep from stepping on his feet. Patiently he led her through. Triple step, triple step. Left foot back, right foot back, left foot turn. Then start over.

Over and over, the mathematical progression worked out. Lestrade actually giggled. Holmes smiled and said, "See my dear Inspector, this is simplicity itself! An arithmetic progression."

"Not bad at all," Lestrade grinned.

He smiled, dimples crossing his youthful face. Still, the angles and lines were covered with baby fat. Just like her face in a way. Lestrade was grateful for the rescue. Even if it was Holmes, who got on her nerves. Funny. Stars and satellites whizzed by the windows, and people were folk dancing. The detective nimbly trotted to violins and clarinet duos. Somehow, it was easy to copy his movements. Lestrade couldn't help but jig right along.

"Well, its fun, but I never thought I'd be dancing on a case," Lestrade panted.

"Social situations are the prime place to gather evidence…" Holmes said.

"You didn't HAVE to ask me to dance, you know," Lestrade said, feeling she had to put up her wall, because the setting was becoming all too casual for her.

"I am rather sorry, Lestrade. I just saw you sitting there and thought you might like a dance . . ."

"I might have, if you hadn't whisked me away from that young man . . ."

Mel waved to them, from a table nearby. She was sitting with a handsome young man in McPherson tartan. However, he didn't wear the sash that Hamish had been wearing.

"Id like you to meet William," she said. He smiled and nodded.

The two couples sat opposite each other. Mel had white wine poured in four glasses. Slowly they began to sip the beverage. "Having fun yet?" Mel asked her.

"Oh, fine," sighed Lestrade, feeling awkward.

"That bad?" Mel asked, eyebrows lowering. "Thought I saw you dancing with some rather handsome men. Including your charming partner?"

Holmes gave an amused smirk, which made Lestrade want to kick his knee. She said, "Well, he rescued me from the other guys in the kilts… even though I was fine…"

"This is a traditional ball," said the Detective. "As the program here says."

"It's so sexist," Lestrade sighed, as she rolled her eyes.

"Depends upon the culture," said Holmes suddenly, looking a bit hurt. "What's sexist in your time is considered gallantry in another. Be glad someone asked you to dance."

"It's never like this when I've gone to parties."

"I'm certain there's a virtual plethora of activities to choose from here," said Holmes. "Someone's throwing a mixer down in the Econohall."

Mel nudged Holmes arm across the table. He fell quiet. "Are you all right, Mr. Holmes?"

"I suppose. This setting is remarkably like my own century," he said, with a sidelong glance at Lestrade. "And how much I sometimes miss it. Even though it's Scottish, it is a piece of a bygone era."

Mel glanced at Lestrade, Mel's date, and Holmes. Then Holmes took Lestrade's hand. "Would you care to get some fresh air? I mean . . . in a different setting""

"Oh, all right," Lestrade sighed. She felt she had hurt his feelings, and the fact that everyone had a partner was painfully evident.

"Will you be back soon?" Mel asked.

"Holmes and I are going to take a walk. See you in a few," Lestrade waved to her. She let Sherlock take her hand and put her arm through his to lead her off in silence, leaving the music behind them.

Out where the Stars were brightest, the two strolled. "You drive me crazy," Lestrade said. "Coming here for a lead, and then we're partying. What next?"

"I have gathered some crucial evidence," Holmes said. "But since you seem in such a sour mood, I rather think I'll let you figure out what it is…"

"Zed…" Lestrade sighed. "Look, if you're sulking about what I said in there… I'm sorry…"

"I rather thought that you'd enjoy seeing what life was like outside of your own modern time… in order that you might understand where I come from," said Holmes. "The tables are reversed and I do believe you felt just as awkward as I did…"

"Scottish bands are NOT Victorian England…"

"But they were integral in my time, and on the periphery of modern society of my times," Holmes corrected her. "Remember the few occasions from Watson's memoirs…"

"Yeah…" Lestrade sighed, glancing at him. "Look… I appreciate it, but I just… never cared for dances…"

"Jealousy is weird in its manifestations," said Holmes, mysteriously.

"Why should I be jealous?"" said Lestrade.

"Considering how you went out of your way to separate yourself and sit alone at a table," Sherlock said with a twinkle in his eyes. "And then you turned down a number of suitable partners for a dance… even when your friend was entertaining herself in the company of men. Rather elementary to deduce that you are not the sort that mingles…"

"Look, Holmes, I was the awkward kid in school okay?" Lestrade confessed. "I finally grew up and got halfway decent looking… and I didn't have TIME for silly stuff like parties, girls and boyfriends. Not ALL women are into the social thing, Holmes…"

"Indeed which makes you who you are," said Holmes with a smile.

"Hey, you're one to talk about being alone. Considering YOU don't go out of your way to join parties…"

"When the occasion lends itself, I do," he said.

"You're not exactly Mister Social yourself," said Lestrade. "Did you cut a rug at school dances? I don't think so…"

"I have always been highly intelligent. More mature for my age," Holmes said. "Much like you must have been in school."

Lestrade's jaw dropped at his similarity, and she felt her wall going up again, as she mumbled, "Like you know anything about what I went through…"

"It seems to me that you are perhaps almost as precocious as I was. Considering you were not dancing with any gentlemen your age in there."

"You are a royal PAIN in the ear, you know that, Holmes?" she snapped. "Totally irascible, irritating, and incorrigible. You show off his knowledge like..."

"Like you do,"" said Holmes. "As I recall, you just love to be right…"

"But that's different," she said. "I have a right to be, when I know I am. And when you throw a bug into the circuit it drives me crazy! And now you're going on like socialization is suddenly THE thing for me to do… when you're hardly one to be doing that yourself!

"All right, I can surmise what you're going to say, Lestrade. Don't remind me. I'm just like a computer. Go ahead and say it, that I only concentrate on my eyes and brains. Well perhaps I do, but you would be well to see that such a thing is a place of exhilaration. That I enjoy the solving of a mystery with my own desires. I'm not all brain and no heart."

"All right you've made your point," Lestrade sighed.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. Just by coming here you've taken the first step into a different world."

Suddenly it seemed like the stars were much brighter. Lestrade stared at their hard cold brilliance in silence. Just what was she trying to see out there? Slowly she felt her mind paging over the images once planted there by a young boy. Only two years separated him from her in age, yet a virtual chasm split them wide apart.

Small voices muttered and gasped. Starting, Lestrade felt a hand on her shoulder. "I say, what happened to the lights?"" said Holmes.

Lestrade turned. Only by starlight could she trace Holmes form standing near her, minus his deerstalker and Inverness. "Zed… this is impossible……"

"Apparently not… come along Lestrade, to the main reception area!"

They raced into darkness. Guests muttered and gasped. Some men and women were rushing about in frenzy toward the door. A few sharp taps from a snare drum signaled to a band. Immediately a lantern was lit. Some of the other Scots all raised old-fashioned oil lanterns. They had been brought as decorations. Now they served a more practical purpose. "Everyone stay calm!" came the voice of the Event Manager. "Stay where you are."

"What's going on?"

"Lassies and gentlemen, there appears to be a power flux. While we find out what's going on, the 14 Regimental Piper's band will entertain you with a medley of tunes . . ."

Bagpipes droned through the silence, cutting through the chatter. Nine note modals echoed in the ballroom with drums tapping. People calmed down in the warm lantern light. After all, the room lights were off anyway.

"Is there a computer operator in the house?"" asked the manager.

Melanie Rush, Lestrade's friend said, "I'm qualified in Systems software."

"Great. Come with me . . ."

Holmes came forwards. "Perhaps I can be of assistance?"

"He works for me," Lestrade said quickly, rushing off to speak to some of the security people who were nagging her for help in crowd control.

"I can assist in determining the source of your problem if given all the facts…"

"Fine," the events manager said. "I've been contacted by the Space Corps. Several space stations have spontaneously lost power. Backup solar panels are running basic life support. But environmental circuits are malfunctioning."

"Hmm," muttered Holmes. "I wonder why. Were there any signs of electromagnetic disruption?"

"I'm not certain yet," admitted the Manager.

Little pools of light formed. Faces were lit with lanterns and candles at the various table. Gentle plucks on dulcimer strings counter parted a few tin whistles in the room. The band played enough to keep calm, but not too loud to drown out the voices of important people.

"Everyone is to remain here, until further notice. Robert Burn's tribute is not canceled. Please help yourself to some mulled wine," announced Hamish, his voice cracking through the soft atmosphere. "There's been a temporary power fluctuation."

Lestrade and Holmes found each other through the dark. "What now"" she wondered.

"Paging Sherlock Holmes," shouted someone from the ballroom doors. "Will the gentleman please come this way?"

A blue-suited security guard passed the Detective a hastily scribbled note. "There's a Transgalactic phone call for you. If you'll just report down to the Message center please."

"I thought all the power was off," said Holmes. He picked up the receiver and began to speak to Watson.

"Emergency repair crews have gotten most of the main systems on backup."

Technicians in blue coveralls scurried through the dim emergency lights in the station corridors. Starlight gave any real illumination, complimented by the artificial lights. All over, the Resort people were told to stay where they were while crews reached the various levels. Luckily, most of them were at the Festival events, and remained calm. A power spike couldn't stop bagpipers and bands.

Lestrade and Holmes watched the space yacht being readied for its trip. Both sat together at a table. To him and his friend, oil lamps and candles seemed normal. What Holmes seemed unsure of was the thought of plunging into the Earth, out of Earth's orbit.

"That's not going to happen," Lestrade told him.

"Why? If the power's not on, won't we crash?"

"Holmes, this time use your eyes and brains," Lestrade groaned.

"Well granted, inertia will keep us in orbit, but I also read that orbits decay, without the necessary solar Power. Despite the fact that things in motion tend to remain in motion… there is the chance that our velocity will decrease due to gravity…"

"Holmes, we're falling around the Earth so fast that there's little danger we'd crash into it. We're overcoming gravity every second. Isaac Newton was right," she insisted. "He did formulate his laws at least a century or two before you were born, Holmes."

"But don't the laws of science become revised every so often?" Holmes raised an eyebrow and twisted his lips into a cute yet annoying grin.

"Oh zed, I hope they get the power back on," Lestrade mumbled.


	4. The William Wallace

**A study in Solar**

Chapter 3

By Trynia Merin

* * *

Down at the Front Desk, several terminals had been hastily wired up for temporary access. Mel had worked miracles with her new friend, William Cameron, rigging up a comm. port with the Space Guard ship. 

Captain DeForester had just arrived at the Spaceport. Space guard support personnel rushed to and fro assessing the situation. One or two reporters managed to telecast news of the Power failure to Earth. Emergency crews struggled to rescue anyone trapped in parts of the station where power failed completely.

But in a matter of minutes they had the power generators going. Holmes kept his ears open to hear discussions about the solar panels, and how they were made with Nusolar, like the solar sails on the ships. Slowly the station was coming back to life, in bits and pieces as life returned to normal.

"Mister Holmes, the ship is ready to go…" said a gentleman who strode up. It was Mel's boyfriend, he thought in interest.

"Ah, you must be the Earl of Cameron…" Holmes said. "When I heard your name…"

"Yes. I am most pleased to meet you. Since we didn't have adequate time to talk around the ladies. It pleased me you seemed to enjoy my Robbie Burns tribute…"

"A piece of the old century, nevertheless not English, but Scottish, and welcome…" Holmes nodded.

"Your young partner seems a bit tense. Mel said she always was one to ignore parties. She stuck to the gym or studies mostly… Mel had to drag her out kicking and screaming sometimes."

"No doubt," Holmes smiled. "Mel is very fond of Lestrade, is she not?'

"Inseparable like night and day."

"Very interesting," Holmes nodded as he continued to chat with Mel's gentleman friend, and awaited Lestrade's return.

Space suited figures swarmed around the delicately built craft. Long strands of wire spanned to the thin foil solar sails. Each sail was attached to a long mast protruding from the cylindrical crew cabin. Looking at the ship from a distance, it resembled a set of praying hands clutching a pen. Other solar yachts drifted in dock, of varying forms. Some had cylindrical sail surfaces, others the more familiar single square sails.

Rockets would boost it away from Earth. The solar sails would give the _William Wallace_ enough velocity to get a slingshot around Earth. Once at sub-light speed, it would accelerate to nine tenths the speed of light. It wasn't a hyper drive craft, but it was better than a simple rocket ship.

Lestrade felt funny boarding such a primitive craft. It was like taking a sailboat instead of an ocean liner. Or a propeller plane instead of a jet. Most propeller planes could get you halfway across the world, but a jet got you there faster.

If you didn't have jet fuel, a propeller plane worked just as well.

And faster meant more expensive.

It took a crew of five to fly the ship. Five young technicians who'd taken leave to attend the Scottish Festival now prepared the craft for launch.

"Standby to cast off," laughed the Earl of Cameron, over the view screen.

Inside the passenger lounge, Lestrade fastened her seat belt. She and Holmes sat on a circular couch at the back wall. The small chamber was paneled in lovely mahogany. Small paintings were fastened securely to the walls. Under her feet, Lestrade felt the thick plush carpet. Through square skylights, they caught glimpses of the diamond stars. Somewhere below them, a navigator was consulting her astral maps, and two young men pulled on the cable riggings. The other two crew members checked the rockets and gyro readings. "I feel strangely at home on this craft," muttered Holmes.

"Kind of like taking a propeller plane instead of a jet, eh?" said Lestrade.

Holmes smiled at her comprehension, confirming it as he said, "Or rather like a sailboat instead of an ocean liner. The first time I feel like I've been on a real space ship, instead of your automated shuttles."

"Are you sure this contraption will get us there and back safely, considering the track records of the others?" Lestrade asked. "I mean, it is to the Asteroid Belt."

"We're not going to Saturn," said the Great Detective. "I'm putting my analytical brain to use and predict if we're due for any meteor storms… considering that vid on astronomy you insisted I watch, Lestrade."

The inspector sighed. Now wearing her quilted coveralls, she shivered. Was it the environment in the cabin, or her nerves? The craft seemed so flimsy compared to the heavy New Scotland Yard guard ships.

"Let's see. The Persied shower should be resulting from Comet Enke . . . in approximately six hours from now. At sub light velocity, we should be able to avoid them at," she punched up the information from the console to her left.

Sudden acceleration pushed them all back into the couches. It was a gentle push, compared to the huge g-force astronauts experienced when taking off from Earth. But it was enough to take Lestrade's breath away. Starlight faintly painted Holmes profile in silver. He still wore his deerstalker and Inverness. Powder blue was transformed into liquid silver, and the red to dark violet.

Grinning, Sherlock Holmes clutched his cane on his lap. Clearly, he was enjoying the ride. All wore their emergency oxygen vests; much like the life jackets worn on ships of old.

In this pressurized, radiation-shielded cabin, they didn't need space suits. Unlike the crewmembers. Lestrade watched the stars elongate into streaks as the William Wallace rocketed out of the Space Resort's orbit. Slowly the steel hull retreated, falling away from them faster and faster. Soon it was just a gleaming cylinder, illuminated blue underneath from earthshine. Night crept across the earth's hemisphere now. Eventually the Earth grew into a full disk.

Green lights twinkled in their cabin. The Detective was pouring over a copy of an astronomy text he'd borrowed from her store of books, but occasionally he glanced up to watch the views starboard and aft. In his eyes was the wonder of one who'd never get sick of traveling in space.

Lestrade took it for granted. She felt her head nodding. The gentle pull of acceleration rocked her to sleep. Later she woke. Someone had wrapped a warm woolen blanket around her. A small fluorescent light gave some light in the cabin now. Still the great detective was reading a book, across from her. Now the 0.5 gee field kicked on, perfectly comfortable. Unclipping her buckles, Lestrade walked off the sofa, or trotted rather. Gently she pushed herself with her fingertips to the forward view-port. Earth had become a complete disc now, about the size of a large basketball. Near to it hovered the Moon's smaller crescent. From the shift of the lines of the stars, she guessed they'd reached half-light speed by now. They walked about the passenger cabin, slowly extracting the niceties for tea. Time was beginning to slow for her. Time would pass outside at a much faster rate. For them, the trip would take twelve hours. For the station, it would be two days.

_Ah, the price one paid with space travel_. Holmes had never experienced the phenomenon of light speed travel. Always, the ships had exceeded this barrier. Sub-light ships were considered pleasure cruisers.

Lestrade felt an odd feeling. Was it her imagination, or did the cabin suddenly seem shorter? Ever more she felt like she was staring down a tunnel. All light zoomed ahead. Oblate stars whizzed by. Disoriented, she pushed herself back to the couch. Six hours, even at light speed, seemed like a ghostly reality. How long did it take for light to get to them from the asteroids? A mere matter of minutes. But at six-tenths light speed it would be hours. She added time segments to time segments. Nuclear ships reached nine-tenths light speed.

Solar winds streamed all about them now. Lestrade could hear the radio chatter of the captain and the Earl of Cameron checking their coordinates. In the distance, she spotted the familiar doughnut shape of the mid Mars Lowell space station. It hung in space, with invisible wires that kept it spinning rapidly. Completely independent of any planet or moon, the Wheel was one of the Deep Space relays for incoming ships bound to the outer solar system.

"_William Wallace_ requesting landing clearance."

"Lieutenant Lernov here. Please identify."

Lestrade drifted to the intercom, and depressed the ancient button. "This is Inspector Lestrade, of New Scotland Yard. Request clearance for landing, please."

"Been a short vacation, eh Maliska?" came the precise Russian accent, with amusement.

"I'll save that for a personal confrontation." said Lestrade, smiling ruefully.

Slowly the_ William Wallace_ drifted up to the station, on momentum alone. Several space-suited technicians jetted up to the glistening network of wires and sheets. Carefully they attached the docking clamps that would draw the craft to the airlock. In a strange duet, the _William Wallace_ matched rotation with the Wheel, till it would match the correct orientation. Holmes glanced up from the synthetic tea and biscuits, and said, "I say Lestrade, why are we suddenly drifting off course?"

"What?" she asked. A jarring suddenly shook as they heard a snapping, and a jolt. Past the starboard and aft windows Holmes glanced to see two ropes streaming away and their ship drifting back from the station.

"Zed… what's going on?" Lestrade demanded.

They struggled to keep their course straight and down in the cabin, Holmes and Lestrade clung to the console as the ship lurched sideways. Lestrade fell backwards over the chair, and Holmes went flying overhead. Lestrade's hair fluffed up into a rounded fluffy blob. Two cups of tea on the table before them turned into small drifting globules that rose lightly out of the containers. A chessboard drifted up from the table, and both Lestrade and Holmes were literally floating an inch or so from their chairs.

"Good gracious," Holmes gasped, flailing his arms. His Inverness floated around his body like an undulating pool of brown, giving him the appearance of a sheet waving in the breeze. Every jerking movement of his body sent him drifting in this direction, and that. Up and down ceased to have any meaning when he spun completely around so floor was ceiling and ceiling was floor. A queasy feeling erupted in the pit of his stomach, and his deerstalker drifted off his head, his cane rising from the chair it once rested upon.

"What are those zed heads doing up there?" Lestrade gasped as they drifted towards the far wall. "The gravity's gone!"

"Gone west, temporarily I hope," Holmes mumbled as he twisted arms in wide circles, and flipped his legs up and down, trying to keep from spinning around yet again.

"This isn't water, you can't swim," Lestrade cautioned him.

Bright flashes surged from outside and a haze of plasma filled the aft and starboard solar sails. Pushing off with her feet she grabbed Holmes by the arm and pulled him along with her by inertia. The craft vibrated with repeated pulses as the radiance grew, and they threw their hands before their face as the solar sail vaporized. Lestrade stabbed buttons on her COM link, shouting, "What's going on there?"

"We're approaching Deimos and Phobos… the left sail's gone!" shouted Gregory Stuart. "We've lost gravity. You have to…." came the tinny voice, blurred with a crackling sound before it faded into nothingness.

"Radiation must be jamming the EM signals, ZED!" cursed Lestrade.

"Watch out!" Holmes pointed out the window. Lestrade shouted as he pushed her back from the wall, and a blaze of fire suddenly blared brighter then a supernova, outlining them in black shadow and blinding radiance flared. The whole ship lurched sideways, and the gravity suddenly kicked on. Lestrade and Holmes toppled to the floor, and then the deck pitched seventy-five degrees to starboard.

"The other sail's caught fire… I mean… look… its vaporizing… almost evaporating!" Beth Lestrade exclaimed. Lestrade rolled back quickly, and slammed chest first into something solid, but not as solid as the wall.

"Oomph!" Holmes voice immediately under her.

Lestrade felt the sensation of weight apparent in her body again, and it seemed hard to lift her arm suddenly. As she opened her eyes she saw wall and Holmes' reddish blonde sideburn right next to her nose and the sensation of his breath in her left ear. Under her chest something rose and fell, and her heart pounded ever faster when another pulsed close to hers.

"Oh zed," Lestrade gasped, pushing down on either side and trying to lift herself off of his body splayed under hers.

"This is getting to be a habit," he remarked dryly. "No harm done… no lasting harm other then a few odd black and blue marks that YOU get to explain to Watson!"

"Sorry!" Lestrade apologized quickly, trying to untangle herself from him because she could feel her face flushing bright red.

"Must be the solar generator feedback!" Holmes bit his lip, and their faces were within inches of each other as more flashes of light illuminated the micro world around them.

Through Holmes body she could feel a vibration that they could not hear, but it permeated their muscle and bones. As bad as it was for her, targeting her stomach and making her feel ill all over, it must be worse for Holmes because she looked into his face, seeing the discomfort there. She pushed herself off of him, and helped pull him up to what was once the port wall, but was now the floor. Plastic tea service thudded to the floor, and brown liquid slid down the incline of their 'wall'. What was once the starboard wall was the ceiling above with its bank of square windows through which where more violent pulses threatened to blind them.

"WE got to get to the flight deck…" she pointed to the cabin door, which seemed so far away.

They scooted along the wall, grabbing into the ornamental railing for stability with the shuddering and complaining ship. Already Holmes saw debris streaking past, and if he glanced down at the 'floor' underneath he saw the reddish curve of an impossibly huge sphere swirling with clouds just beneath his spat covered shoes. He felt for a dizzy moment he was standing on nothing, and quickly stumbled after Lestrade who gripped his cane to help him along.

The deck pitched again, and Holmes hooked the end of his cane around the light fixture between two windows, caching Lestrade as she shot past him. His arm around her waist tugged but held her securely against his body, and she caught her breath. "Hold onto my back," he told her as he reached up to find another handhold.

"I'm FINE!" she shouted. "I DID take rock climbing!"

* * *


	5. Crash Landing

**A Study In Solar**

**_Crash Landing_**

By Trynia Merin

* * *

Hand over hand he climbed, pushing his feet against the back of the chairs, and window frames. His cane hooked through the light fixture right beside the cabin door, which was now at an eighty-degree slope up from them. "I STRONGLY suggest you climb onto my back, and get onto my shoulders so we can escape this infernal cabin… before we get concussions from the debris!" 

"Fine!" Lestrade shouted as she let him pull her past him, and he knelt down to help her onto his knee and shoulder anchoring himself with the cane. She stood on his bent knee; bracing one hand on his shoulder and reaching up to grasp the door handle and turn it. The door swung inward, startling her as it slammed momentarily into the wet bar immediately to the left. She almost toppled from where Holmes was kneeling, gritting his teeth, and caught the edge of the doorframe with her gloved right hand.

"I suggest you make haste," he grunted.

"I'm not THAT heavy, buster," she snapped back.

Just then she felt his left hand and shoulder push up hard, and she shot through the cabin door into the chamber just before the flight deck. Here there were seats that were folded to the wall, with belts and oxygen tanks set up. Masks had dropped from the survival kits concealed behind mahogany panels. Setting her foot on the wall, which was the floor now, she reached down to grasp Holmes' hand and pull up. He grunted as he scrambled beside her, and leaned his cane down to pull the door handle up and snap the door shut again.

"So we don't unceremoniously end up down there again," he said, locking it firmly behind them. Lestrade stood on the door, and leaned over to press the com panel just along the 'wall. Stabbing the button she shouted, "Hey, this is Inspector Lestrade, what in the absolute zero is going on here?"

"Inspector! Glad you're all right."

"If you call being banged around like ripe fruit all right," Holmes muttered. "Is it the stabilizers?"

"Yes Mr. Holmes!" shouted the captain's voice. "We're loosing altitude, and falling into the gravity well of Mars. We had to avoid crashing into Phobos."

"Can't you stabilize and switch to manual?" Holmes shouted.

"No can do. You and the inspector had best buckle into that fold down seats and strap in. This baby is going to crash… there's nothing we can do but keep her nose up and pray we can land safely without burning up in the atmosphere."

"Now wait!" Lestrade shouted.

"Captains orders! Strap in and hang on!" he shouted.

"Zed, how are we going to get to those seats… we need to fold one down… and it's up THERE?"

Holmes grabbed the table, and set it down on the wall which was their floor. He climbed up onto it, and stood up, but the fold down seat was just out of reach. Lestrade glanced around the cabin, but noticed there was only one crash seat, the one on the far wall, which was almost eleven feet up in what was now a ceiling.

"Holmes, now it's YOUR turn for a leg up," Lestrade said, as she saw him motion to her to get on the table.

"Don't be ridiculous!" he said. "I'll be all right. You take the seat."

"Shut up and get on my shoulders NOW, Holmes," Lestrade shouted. "That's an ORDER!"

"Now just a moment!" Holmes protested.

"Shut it mister," she snapped, and leaned down. Holmes sighed and stepped onto her shoulder, and reached up to the catch that held the seat. With a click it folded down, and the belts dangled just within his reach.

"Confound it… I don't see how?"

"I'm using my own eyes and brains!" she shouted as she boosted him up. "Hook your arms through those two straps, and belt yourself in! Then pull me up!"

Holmes felt Lestrade push up against his feet till his bottom was on the seat and his back was up against the backrest. He slipped his arms through the shoulder harness, and hooked his cane as he braced his leg against the oxygen tank that was in the wall nearby. HE reached down, and pulled Lestrade up. She grabbed the cane he hooked around one of the handles in the wall, and fortuitously the ship pitched again, sending her to the side. The ceiling was now the far wall, and she pushed against him.

Holmes passed her the end of the seat belt and she clicked it around both of them, seated firmly in his lap. Her hands gripped the shoulder straps and she felt his arms clasp around her waist from behind. Through the seat and the wall the same shuddering overtook Holmes and Lestrade, belted into the emergency crash seat. Glancing past Lestrade's shoulder Holmes could see the expanse of red blowing up till it was almost concave. A pull from behind weighed him down, and the window began to glow red faintly.

A light mist undulated on the glass, and Lestrade felt sweat beading all over her and between her body and Holmes behind her. Although in his lap was a place that she had sometimes dreamed would be interesting, this hardly helped reassure her that they might burn up as the cherry red aura flared orange, and then white hot. The queasiness in his stomach returned and Holmes gritted his teeth and held Lestrade close, feeling her body shaking in his arms. Her hands tightened over his, gripping like death.

"We're going to die," she whispered. "Oh god… just like my brother died."

"Lestrade?" he whispered, feeling the tremors rocking them in their seat ever more. Faints whistling like a teakettle boiling over hissed in his ears, and he heard it crescendo into a scream and then drop octaves into a roar.

"We've hit the atmosphere, but we're going too fast," she gasped, gritting her teeth and staring out the window. Lumps of light streaked past, and rolled along the window like mercury that Holmes used to play with in his lab in Baker Street two hundred years ago.

"Stiff upper lip!" he gritted in her ear, her hands squeezing the circulation from his fingers.

"Sherlock we're going to die!" she gasped. He caught her use of his first name, and knew she was terrified. Her brother came to mind. And the fear of crashing was not unrelated, and his deductive mind spun on overdrive fitting the pieces together.

"Beth, brave heart," he whispered. "Where there's life there's hope… don't give up until the last."

The words seemed empty, but he knew that he had to say something as he felt her shaking there, pinned between the weight of her body and the seat behind him. Beth's teeth chattered and he heard a soft whimper come from her lips. Slowly the Inspector was coming apart before his eyes as the ground grew features of dunes and pink swirling clouds, and they were falling into a world.

Sherlock remembered reading the pulp magazines by Edgar Rice Boroughs in his later age, and even the works of H.G. Wells, which he considered an odd curiosity. Horror and sensation were all he read; not much interested in the classics. For him it was fascinating to see the swirling clouds jetting past and the spinning of the ground as a flash of pink sky tumbled and rotated to the ground, and then the sky spun past, making him giddy.

"Goodbye Sherlock," she whispered. "I'm sorry it had to end this way."

"None of that!" he scolded her sharply.

But Lestrade couldn't hear him, because her head fell limp against his shoulder as she mercifully blacked out. Holmes sighed with relief and held her close, drawing strength from the physical closeness as the unknown intruded even on his sense of logic and control. There came another jarring and a loud scraping with the ceiling turning to wall, and clouds of dust outside when he felt the whole micro world of the ship become tipsy turvey. His head shot forward and whipped back, and a Roman candle exploded at the base of his cranium. Darkness soon emerged as he followed Lestrade into it.

* * *

Lestrade wondered why her head was pounding, and was glad that everything had gone quiet. Her heavy eyelids seemed to creak open, and a pinkish blur swirled into lines and angles. Outside she could see sky and sand, with scattered rocks. She was still breathing and glad of it too. Her whole body ached, but she slowly moved, trying to get up. Something was holding her down, and she glanced down at the belts strapping around her shoulders and hips. Under her she felt warmth and firmness, and remembered whose lap she was sitting in. 

"Holmes… we're alive… we crashed," she got out as she unclipped the seat belt and staggered to stand. She caught herself on the ledge around one of the thick windows. No answer in the silence. Trying her wrist COM she punched buttons. Nothing. A channel was open, indicated by the flickering green screen but there was no response.

"Holmes?" she asked as she turned and saw him with his head leaned to one side, and his lips were a curious shade of blue. She grasped his arms and shook him, repeating his name.

"Sherlock… wake up," she nudged him again.

His skin was pale, and she lifted her hand to his mouth, and felt nothing. Quickly she probed his body up and down with careful touches and listened at his chest. A faint but steady beat was present, but very slow. A shock surged in her body, and she grabbed him and dragged him to lie on the flattest surface, the floor.

Her hand pressed against his forehead and her other against his chin to tilt up his face and open the airway. She grabbed the tie and loosened it with the top button, tapping him and shaking him. How cold he felt, Lestrade thought, and she felt sick inside. It couldn't be, could it? Not while she could do something, she decided, pinching off his nose and opening his mouth. Taking a deep breath she sealed her mouth to his and exhaled, feeling a strange thrill at the touch of her lips to his, cold though they were.

"C'mon Holmes, breathe!" she urged, and then gave another breath to him. Her hand probed his neck and felt a thready pulse. Still nothing, as she continued for what seemed like a dizzying period of time.

"Don't do this, you can't do this. Don't die on me, damn it!" she yelled at him. "I didn't bring you back to have you do this… not now!"

Again she filled his chest with air, stinging moisture in her eyes that blurred her vision. Something moved under her, and his breath surged back into her mouth. She quickly leaned back, heart pounding in fear that he'd realize how close she had been, and how silly it was to worry about their invisible lines now. His body jarred and she heard a loud cough. His eyes fluttered and he gave a low moan.

"Oh don't do that again!" she cried as she pressed her head to his chest and slid her arm under his neck.

"Lestrade… may I ask… why I'm on the floor… although… I can guess… the answer…" he coughed, blinking up at her.

"Oh zed, you scared me to death," she gasped, griping his shoulder tightly.

"Lestrade," he whispered, raising his hand to touch her cheek lightly. "I told you… we'd make it."

"Oh shut up, you," she laughed, wiping at her eyes and hoping he didn't notice the tears.


	6. Space Base

**A Study in Solar**

**_Chapter 4_**

By Trynia Merin

* * *

A half-hour later, they both sat in a small white room. Sherlock ran his fingers over the curved chilly walls. He still marveled at the smoothness of the texture. It must be that material Lestrade called "plastic." There seemed to be a lot of it about in the future. Nothing like wood or metal, he was accustomed to.

Space Marine soldiers buzzed around them, waving miniature x-ray scanners over them. Another Marine, with officer's rank, pressed small jell covered disks to his bare neck, right over the neck vein. He could only guess what they were checking for.

"They show no signs of infection or illness," one voice said to another. Other voices spoke in strange technical lingo he couldn't comprehend. Holmes felt like a cow being inspected at a market. To these soldiers they were like some new weapon, to be examined and tested.

Each eye scanned his clothing. His plaid was the only cheerful splash of color in this gray and black place. Only the reds and gold's on some Marine uniforms interrupted the monotone hues all around him and the inspector.

Both Holmes and Lestrade sat on low plastic tables. Crinkly white paper covered each, under where he sat. It crackled as he shifted his weight forwards. It also felt as antiseptic as Watson's bottle of rubbing alcohol, a smell that he curled his nose at. The smell hung in the room, chilling his nostrils and setting his teeth on edge. A very clean smell but distressing.

"I'm Inspector Lestrade from New Scotland Yard," said Lestrade. "From Earth. They requested a specialist to look at this situation..."

"Scan her identity chip."

Lestrade rolled up her sleeve. Gritting her teeth with impatience, she endured the faint tingling itch. Simultaneously, someone rolled up Holmes's sleeve.

"No chip!" they suddenly said, mystified.

"What do you mean?"" asked one of the Space Marines. Lestrade slipped close to her companion. "The implants might be in a different place," she said. "After all, those Earth implants don't always put them on the correct arm. Try his left."

"This is ridiculous," Holmes sighed. "Are all victims of a crash treated like this?"

"Hush now. They're busy people," she urged him. She gripped his arm and gave it a reassuring pressure.

"Scan again," the Lieutenant told the private. A few seconds later, they scratched their heads.

"She was right. Says here that he's under her command as a consulting detective. Says he's Sherlock Holmes!"

"Right," laughed the other.

"Oh for heaven's sake," Holmes sighed. "Are the others from the crash all right?"

"They are fine and well," the doctor said to him. "But that doesn't explain why your implant wasn't in the right place!"

"Maybe they worked their way out of the skin," said Lestrade impatiently. "You can never tell with those micro-implants. They tend to drift..."

"All right, all right," sighed the Lieutenant. "You're in order. I'm taking you to the Commander…"

They were soon taken with the other crewmembers of the William Wallace down a long series of corridors. Holmes passed a door to Airlock three, and peered through the transparent glass window. Space suited astronauts were peeling off suits as the passengers passed through the area. They had been rescued, and were being hustled to the sickbay.

Holmes carried his duffle bag over one shoulder. Lestrade toted her hard cased luggage and micro-laptop. The detective found himself bored looking at the long white paneled corridors. How come they could make a space Resort look so appealing, and at the same time let a space station look so drab.

Beneath the stretchable fabric of her uniform, Lestrade's muscles seemed to glide. Black and white patches curved over her hips, back and bosom. Such an outfit seemed a crime compared to the tight black dress she wore the night before. She really was attractive, he thought, but had not usually allowed himself to consider her in that way. Other technicians passed them in the corridors. Occasional portholes allowed them a glimpse of the rotating stars swirling past. Five technicians still wearing their tartans followed Holmes and Lestrade.

"This is the Control Center," she said, passing a set of double doors. But we're reporting to the commander's office first."

"Ah, security reasons, I imagine," said Holmes. "Protocols and all. The same reception we received in sickbay?"

"Calm down Holmes," said Lestrade, shaking her head.

Two low doors swung open into the curved office. A normal desk, several puff chairs, and built- in computer terminals decked the room.

Behind the desk sat a blond haired gentleman. He rose, and shook William Cameron's hand. "Good to see you sir. I am sorry about the crash…"

"Thank you for your timely rescue," the Earl said. "Without your Space Marines we couldn't have made it…"

"A space marine base, typical," Lestrade mumbled. "Always suspicious of even the Yardies."

She said this as she leaned over to Holmes. He nodded and said, "Well considering we crashed in a military zone… and didn't land as requested at the station orbiting the planet… could you blame them for thinking we were suspicious. These military minds seem to all think that if it's not in the record, it's not official…"

Eyes falling on the Inspector, the Command moved over to her and shook her hand as well, an apologetic look in his blue eyes, as he said, "Good to see you, Lestrade. Lernov said you'd be here from Earth, and you're investigating the Nusolar power failures." he smiled.

Holmes noticed that at the mention of Lernov, Lestrade blushed. He guessed that there was definitely a previous connection between them that he had not surmised. The Commander turned to Holmes asking, "Who is your friend?"

"This is Mr. Holmes. He's come to help me with the investigation," said Lestrade.

"I'm here to offer a second opinion," said Holmes, cutting in. "It's a most mysterious unconventional phenomenon."

"Good. We could benefit from some outside diagnoses," smiled the Commander, shaking Sherlock's hand. The detective noted his strong firm grip.

"Most of the shuttles have been replaced with Space yachts owned by prominent Scottish families," said Holmes. "But their solar sails seemed to have failed. Any reason why in your opinion…"

"Why am I always the last to know these things," muttered Leo Ryan, turning. He punched his voice link badge angrily. "Sergey, what in blazes is going on? With those Space Marines."

"I just received a transmission from the Space Guard. They say that all shuttles and cargo ships not nuclear powered are commandeered for military and relief efforts. The only transports between stations are private vessels, donated or commandeered by civilians."

Leo sighed. "Next time, kindly give a shout before the news hits the fan."

"But my Commander, you were only just promoted," came the Russian voice over the link. "It would not do to overload you with our little problems."

"All right," he snapped. "I admit it. My little problems are not as important as this one. Go ahead. Say it. Say I told you so."

A Russian phrase smoothed calmly over the link. Lestrade grinned to herself. Hamish shook his head. Some personal joke, no doubt.

"There. I said it in Russian, as not to offend my dear Commander."

"All right Lieutenant Lernov," he said. "That's good enough."

"The technicians from the William Wallace are here t'help with repairs," said William Cameron "They should be boarding by now."

"That's one thing I was told in advance," said Leo Ryan. "I'm sorry about your ship. We're going to do our best to repair it…"

"So what exactly happened at this station," asked the Doctor.

"Massive power failures."

"Was this because the solar panels were malfunctioning?" Holmes asked. "And they were Nusolar, I presume…"

"Exactly. Luckily we have the ion power plant, an experimental model, on board. It was just installed. But it won't last for long. It runs on beryllium like our defensive laser."

"Are all these power failures due to the solar cells, or because the units themselves are not functioning?" asked Holmes.

"It was a temporary power fluctuation," said Leo Ryan. "Those stations further out were not hit as badly as those closer to the Sun."

"How about the solar activity readings?" Holmes asked.

"Yes. Hopefully the solar power panels can be replaced with Solarex panels before our beryllium stores exhaust."

"I think that the Nusolar cloth was itself affected," said Holmes. "Due to a sensitivity to high levels of solar radiation…"

"How so? Why would it be effected and not Solarex?"

"I was just thinking," said Holmes. "Solar flares have been quite active haven't they only recently?"

"Yes…. But I don't see why…"

"Your systems on the planet use the Nusolar polymer to capture sunlight. Perhaps high levels of ions from the solar flares destroy the bond structure of Nusolar. Yet Solarex has a different chemical structure that is solar flair resistant…"

"Then why did the Wallace crash?" asked Lestrade. "If it was using Solarex?"

"Simple, Lestrade," said Holmes. "The ship was berthed at the space hotel. And there WERE technicians repairing her. Some of them were replacing parts of the solar sails with new polymer when I looked out the view ports."

"I didn't notice…"

"Eyes and brains," he said. "And since Solarex is rare lately, they must have used Nusolar, which is easier to come by on Earth, but Solarex is used in most of the stations here, except for the space station here…"

"True," said Ryan. "It seems that we had some Solarex stockpiled, but it wasn't the latest thing. And unfortunately when I was off on a training seminar, the Solarex was replaced with Nusolar…"

"Who was in command when you were not here?" asked Lestrade.

"Lieutenant Commander Rosschild," he said.

"Interesting. Now, is solar power the only option available?"

"Good heavens, no," said Lestrade. "Some of Earth's cities are solar powered. But some use fusion energy."

"How unfortunate that most ships run on fusion reactors," muttered Holmes. "Is there an adequate supply of Solarex on your base?"

"There's a Solarex manufacturing plant in Lowell City on Mars, and a plant nearby at Sagan City," said Leo Ryan. "Since the disaster, we've been trying to authorize shipments to replace the panels with the Solarex…"

"That caused the shortage," Holmes said. "Everyone replacing Nusolar with Solarex… but those who couldn't afford Solarex went with Nusolar… a cheaper alternative…"

"How did you know?" Lestrade asked.

"I took the liberty of examining a sample of both polymers. Your modern analysis depends on spectrometry. But I used a chemical means of analysis. It seems that during the polymerization process, Nusolar can be damaged if exposed to hydrochloric acid… at a very fine concentration. And then it is sufficiently weakened so that high levels of solar energy will cause it to degrade and overload…"

"Hydrochloric acid?" Leo Ryan asked.

"Yes. And one of the best cleaning supplies that I have seen for cleaning the grime off of glass panels is a dilute solution containing chlorate ions. But if someone spiked it with a small concentration of hydrochloric acid each time it was cleaned…"

"Wait you're saying someone spiked a cleaner?" Lestrade laughed. "How is THAT related to the explosions?"

"Good question," Holmes said. "The solar panels have to be free of grit and grime, correct Commander?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"Watson confirmed that," said Holmes with a nod. "He said that the solar sails on ships are often damaged by meteorites. And frequently the sails are patched, and cleaned with a special solution in space dock."

"But who would benefit?" asked Lestrade.

"Who indeed," Sherlock said mysteriously.

Several; hours passed, as the necessary negotiations happened. Lestrade and Holmes were allowed free reign of the residential quarters, and the small science unit. At first, the high security seemed annoying, but Sherlock soon realized it was exciting to explore the base. He delighted in the modern wonders of this place.

Corridors spoked out like a spider's web from a central hub. Like most military bases, Rhea station worked its way under the planet's surface. A whole garrison of Space Marines lived, ate, worked, and breathed in close proximity on their tours of duty. Apart from the comet outposts. Many of the soldiers had once been Mars's colonists. They enjoyed serving on the rust-covered fields and cream rose skies of their adopted home world. Pieces of familiarity were plastered on the curved corridor walls: posters, airbrush paintings, small potted plants. Regimented military life was all any had known for the last two years. Such a structure threaded together the diverse lives of each private and officer. Only occasionally could they venture to Lowell City for an R and R.

Now they headed out to the canteen to get something to eat. Lestrade and Holmes stepped out into an emptied room. There was a strange silence about the place. Even though there were still people sitting at tables, nobody spoke in the room. Everyone was grim.

Lestrade glanced sideways at Holmes. "What a sorry group of people," she commented. "You'd think that someone had died."

"They've been under a lot of stress, Lestrade, considering what has been happening with the frequent power failures."

Lestrade's eyes fell on a familiar man standing up from one table. He shook his head and wandered over, and Holmes noticed the look of angst on her face. She whispered, "Excuse me but I have someone to talk to, Holmes."

"Lestrade?" Holmes asked as she walked by him.

"Later… you just do your detective thing… mingle."

"Very well," Holmes sighed as he watched her join the young space marine, which waved her into the hallway. Both disappeared quickly, leaving Holmes alone with the group.

Two Marines leaned over a chessboard. Another group clustered around a table, each buried in personal communiqué tapes. Holmes approached the people, and asked softly, "Excuse me, anyone for coffee?"

The corporal did a double take, and glanced at her. "Well, I thought I was hallucinating. I just saw a civvie."

"He's surely real enough," said the other enlisted man across from him.

One of the female soldiers shook her head and smiled grimly. "Where'd you come from?"

"I'm just visiting . . . I came with the inspector," said Holmes, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "Does anyone want anything to drink, coffee, tea . . . hot chocolate?"

"You look a little bit overdressed for KP duty mister," said the enlisted man.

"Well considering the atmosphere, it looks like all of you could use something hot to drink," Holmes said conversationally.

"It's over here. In the kitchen," said one of the privates. Holmes disappeared with Private Alvarez. Minutes later the two men brought out trays of hot tea and coffee, with food concentrates, and wandered around the tables casually, dispensing beverages. Sherlock returned to the table where the two were playing chess, and looked over the shoulder of the corporal.

"I'm not gonna sit here the rest of the night," said the corporal to her opponent. "Make a move, Chang."

"Don't rush me. This is a precision game."

"Precise for whom?" Holmes asked casually.

Both of them looked up at him. "Who brought in the civilian?" she asked.

"Oh, just visiting. My friends and I have been enlisted for morale support. By the Colonel."

"I told you he'd come around," said Chang. "He's not always on the hyper wave."

"You wouldn't know it," muttered the corporal. "How'd you get here? All the ships are down."

"Er, I have my own transport. My friends and I were just, passing through when we saw the mood here. You could spot it from ten light hours away."

"What do you mean?"

"A general cloud of doom. Why it's almost a visible manifestation," Holmes said, adding a touch of drama. He was absent from his Inverness and deerstalker, but still retained his cane and an ID badge pinned to his vest.

"That obvious, eh?"

"I've got you check and mate in five moves," said Chang, slipping his bishop up.

"What was that?"" asked the Corporal, advancing her night.

"Check."

"Are you altogether sure you want to do that?" asked Holmes, leaning hands on his thighs.

"I've got her. It's the domino effect."

Coolly, the corporal slipped her queen into position, taking his bishop. Chang took her queen, only to fall prey to a night he'd missed. "What the?" said Chang, surprised.

"The man did warn you," said the Corporal. A smile hinted behind her serious facade.

"I could show you a good strategy," Sherlock said with a polite smile.

"Yeah right," laughed the corporal.

"This should prove interesting," said Chang.

"First time in a while I've had the privilege of playing chess in quite a while," Holmes smiled. "And with such an attractive opponent one too."

"You say that to all the girls who play you, don't you?" the Corporal asked him, with a slight smile on her face.

"Perhaps you could humor him," laughed Chang. "He looks like fresh kill… don't let the lady bug you. She'll let you down easily."

"We shall see," said Sherlock Holmes as he set up the pieces, and looked at the Corporal with a smile in his blue eyes. The Corporal, amused, held up the two chess pieces for him to pick. Holmes tapped her hand, and she opened it to reveal the black pawn.

"Good…" Holmes said. "Now… let us begin."

Meanwhile Lestrade followed the gentleman, his black hair and light brown eyes fixing into hers with a warm smile. He said, "Been a long time, Beth."

"Sergey," she said softly. "It has been ages."

"Have they been treating you well in the Yard?' he asked her as he indicated a table, and pulled out a chair for her. Both of them sat down opposite one another, and Lestrade sighed at the sudden memories running through her head.

"Yeah, you could say so," she said wistfully.

"You should have come with me," Lernov said softly, reaching across the table to take her hand.

"I couldn't…" Lestrade shook her head. "I mean I wanted to… but you and I had different goals."

"I only wanted to make you happy… take you away from your family, they were only holding you back."

"Sergey, I know," she sighed. "But you know how it is… my work is the most important thing to me… not the domestic thing and popping out kids!"

"Nepradva li, that is what I would have expected from you," he sighed. "Always the lone wolf… aren't we?"

"Better then a bear," she mumbled.

"Both predators, and both alone… but both powerful animals," said Sergey, leaning across to take her hand. She felt his hot breath on her face, and flushed.

"It wouldn't work," she said flatly. "It's been two years."

"Beth, please, we have so little time… why not spend it together… enjoying one another. It gets very lonely here."

"What bout Lowell city?" Beth asked with a wry grin.

"Well, there are few women with your fire, your zest for living," he said with a slow smile over his young face. "And you always did live for adventure… here on Mars we make a good living. I have a nice small place… with a bottle of chilled vodka. And cranberry juice. We could sit down and talk about old times… and have a drink or two…"

"Breakfast in bed?" Beth asked slowly.

"You always loved the donuts with crème filling," Lernov smiled lasciviously, his eyes darkening.

"Sergey…" she breathed as he kissed the inside of her palm, and up her bare arm.

"Ya she govoril, Malishka?" he asked as he continued a soft trail of kisses.

"I'm on duty," she said with a whisper. From across the room she heard laughing and groaning as people clustered around a table, and were all intently watching something very interesting.

"Did that ever stop us before?" he winked. "Even at the academy?"

"Why DID you go into the Marines? You would have been great in New Scotland Yard."

"I have the urge to travel," he shrugged, a hurt look in his eyes. "Chasing through the streets when I could be on the frontier... out here... where a real man can scrape a living from the soil and defend his home… not in some city where everything is done for you."

"Hey, that city is no picnic," she said, annoyed.

"Malishka, it is no comparison," he laughed.

"Sergey, sometimes you really piss me off, zed…" she sighed.

"You love it when I bother you, as I recall," he grinned. Lestrade sighed and glanced anxiously around as if she was afraid of who might see them.

"What's all the excitement about?" she asked as she saw the group clustered around the table.

"Pay it no mind. I would very much like to show you my place," he said, in sudden irritation that he was being ignored.

"No wait, my partner, I forgot all about him… zed!" she groaned.

"Your partner?" Sergey laughed momentarily, his eyes sparkling. "Her I would like to meet."

"It's a he, and he's lost without me," Beth teased as she got up. Sergey put his arm around her waist possessively as she quickly walked over and saw a sight that made her want to laugh.

Sherlock Holmes had unbuttoned his top button, rolled up his sleeves, and was loosening his tie. Across from him sat the Corporal, and there were very few pieces on the chessboard. The space marines were all putting down credits and whispering as Holmes gave a sly smile and sipped a glass of tonic and bourbon across from the Corporal. Smoke curled up from the table, and others were actually smoking forbidden tobacco. Lestrade curled her nose. How she'd like to arrest them!

"That's illegal!" she gasped.

"Not on Mars," said Sergey, holding her back. "We grow it as one of our novelty crops."

"Ten citations at least!" she snapped.

"Malishka you are not in authority here, nepradva li?" Sergey shook his head. Holmes glanced as the Corporal tapped her Russian cigarette on the ashtray and inhaled. He picked up the pipe to his left and inhaled a bit of the smoke, then let it curl around his head as he prepared his next move. His hand slapped the button on the digital timer.

"Your move," he smiled cannily at the Corporal.

Tanya knocked back a sip of vodka, and inhaled a drag of smoke, letting it blow in Holmes' face, as she laughed, "All right, you Brit… let's see what you can do to this… Check…"

"Simplicity itself," Holmes smiled as he moved his queen into position, and then waited. "Now it's check…"

"Clever, but not clever enough," laughed his opponent.

Everyone was changing his or her bets and Lestrade shook her head, groaning. Always Holmes was the center of attention, and he seemed to be creaming the Colonel, even though they were evenly matched. "Who is that?" asked Sergey with a look between confusion and amusement.

"My partner," she groaned in mortified embarrassment.

"Some partner," laughed Sergey.

"Ten astral credits on the detective," Chang whispered.

"She's dead to rights," laughed another.

"Checkmate," said Holmes simply. The Corporal gasped and shook her head.

"No way!" she laughed. "Damn you ARE good!"

"Wahoo, the Detective wins!" laughed Chang, and the others cheered. "Two for three."

"I guess he gets the prize," smiled the Corporal reluctantly as she tossed a slipper over the table, and Holmes grinned smugly.

"Good thing he doesn't play cards," Chang laughed.

"Damn, will you teach ME to play?" laughed someone else. "Sheeooot!"

"What are you doing?" Lestrade tapped her foot. "You KNOW tobacco's illegal!"

"We aren't on earth, Inspector," Holmes laughed. "Besides, it seems the morale has risen considerably…"

"You're encouraging GAMLBING?" Lestrade groaned. "Just what in HELL has gotten into you?"

"Simmer down Yardie!" the Corporal snapped. "He's actually a bright spot on this ball of rust."

"Beth, please do relax, you always WERE excitable," Sergey said patronizingly.

"Oh shut up," Beth mumbled.


	7. Lestrade's ex boyfriend Sergey

**A Study in Solar**

**_Chapter 5_**

By Trynia Merin

* * *

She glared at Holmes, as he picked up the pipe and the slipper of tobacco. Slipping it into the pocket of his Inverness, he swept the cloak on, yet left it unfastened. Lernov chuckled, and slid his arm around Lestrade's waist again, pulling her in the direction of the crew's quarters. 

"Just a minute Sergey," she hissed.

"I trust you are occupied otherwise?" Holmes asked pointedly. Lestrade wondered if the gleam in his eyes indicated jealousy or just concern.

"Holmes, you can't bring that tobacco back with you to earth, you KNOW it's outlawed…"

"I do," he whispered as he leaned close and whispered in her ear. "That's precisely why I want to analyze it… and find out its source."

"Oh," Lestrade said.

"Leave the man to his pipe weed," Lernov tutted, and put his hand on Lestrade's shoulder. "I think the Inspector deserves some down time, and you as her partner should respect that, nepradva li?"

"Sergey please," she sighed.

"And if you do not mind, we have not seen one another since the Academy, and I would REALLY like to catch up on old times, if you don't mind," he said. Lestrade looked directly at Holmes, as if waiting for him to say something. Holmes cleared his throat, and picked up his cane.

"If she has no objections, I have no objections, provided that it does not take too long. I was going to take a tour of the facility… and I would like very much if you and I could meet for dinner," he said to Lestrade.

"I don't know, Holmes," she bit her lip.

"In that case, do not hesitate to call me if you require ANY assistance," Holmes said, taking her arm and giving it a squeeze. His eyes narrowed under the brim of his deerstalker as he put it on, and regarded the couple. "I will be en route, and not far away, if you need me."

"Holmes I'm a big girl!" protested Lestrade.

"She cannot be safer with me," Sergey laughed. "Your concern for the Malishka is touching, but be assured I intend to make every advantage of our time together. You see, we go back a ways…"

"Sergey, let's leave my partner to his case breaking," Lestrade sighed, a glassy look in her eyes.

"Come along then my Malishka, and we shall talk privately," he said, slipping his arm around her hips again, and angling them in the direction of the door. "I shall bring her back safe and sound… no damage, nepradva li?"

"And you make certain that is the case, providing your intentions are honorable sir," Sherlock said firmly, as he held out his cane horizontally at the level of Sergey's waist. Amused, Sergey's eyes flashed and fixed into Sherlock's. A staring contest ensued, and time froze with the chilly blue gaze of Sherlock's eyes. Sergey was the first to break contact, and moved the cane aside, smiling disarmingly, though Lestrade saw his foot tapping.

"Holmes, back off," Lestrade snorted. "Don't you have a CASE to investigate?"

"Indeed," Holmes said with a cough as his stare temporarily softened.

"You have a lot to learn about the Marines, Detective," Sergey said as he led Lestrade towards the exit of the mess hall. "She will be FINE… and I shall bring your partner back in one piece."

"See that you do sir," said Holmes icily. His cane lowered and trembled from the shaking of his fist as it tightened on the handle.

"Hey, take it easy," someone said, and Holmes turned to look at Private Alvarez and Corporal Chang, who were standing only a foot away.

"You don't wanna mess with the bear," said Chang. "Besides, Lestrade's his woman."

"Oh come on," Alvarez laughed. "You take me for loco, hombre? You gotta be out of your mind Senior, letting your woman go off like that."

"Lestrade is capable of taking care of herself," Holmes said, though Chang shook his head, and Alvarez snorted.

"Yeah, right," said Alvarez.

"Those cigarettes you were smoking… they are Russian I presume?"

"The Leanovs?" asked Alvarez holding up the pack. "I guess. It's the only kind we can get out here."

"And Sergey… is he your source?" asked Holmes. "Considering that I MAY be interested in procuring some… for later?"

"Ignore him, he doesn't know anything," Chang cut Alvarez off.

"I forgot where I got them," said Alvarez quickly.

"Would it jog your memory if I taught you both how to win a chess match in only five moves?" Holmes asked. "Would that be of value to you gentleman?"

"You're kidding right?" Chang laughed. "After the way you barely beat Corporal Palmer?"

"The lovely lady chess player was baiting me, and so I simply wanted to see the extent of her expertise," Holmes eyes lit up, and his lips curled in a slight smile. In that instant both men looked at one another and started to laugh.

"I like your style, Holmes," said Alvarez. "Right Chang? Maybe we COULD remember…"

"C'mon over and show us the moves," Chang said as he took Sherlock by the arm and lead him over to the abandoned chessboard. All the other space marines had moved off to their various duties save these two.

"You also said you were wanting a tour," said Alvarez as Holmes sat down, and removed his cap while Chang set up the board, and dragged the timer over. "I could fix you up. My hombre and me know this place inside and outside if you get my meaning… Senior…"

"Indeed, Senior," said Holmes, in perfect Spanish. "It would be most delightful to exchange information."

"For a guy who dresses weird, you're all right," Chang said. "Rez, get us some vodka. It's gonna be an interesting lesson."

Holmes smiled, and brought out a pad of paper. "Now, this is the best way to map out your strategy."

* * *

Sergey led Beth down a long hallway, and up a turbo elevator to a block of flats reserved for officers. He touched the control on the door, and it slid open to his thumbprint. Indicating to Lestrade that she should enter first, she did, and the lights flared on to a soft rose color. Her eyes widened when she saw a number of photographs and hologram images of her clustered on his desk. The place was impeccably neat, far different then the Sergey she remembered from the college and Academy days. His videophone and goggle phones were set carefully by the neatly arranged vids on the small desk. A smell of roses hit her nose, and she inhaled deeply as Sergey wandered over to the food preparation area. Reaching into the insulating thermal unit he pulled out a bottle of what appeared to be red wine and she noticed when he showed her the label that it said Cabernet Sauvignon. 

"I had heard you were coming, and I had your favorites ready, my sweetness," he smiled, his eyes sparkling like fine copper in the light of the rose hued illumination. Fresh carnations were set, pink and red in color, in a vase on the small table, and she gasped when she saw that there was a place set for two.

"That's so sweet of you, zed," she gasped. He poured two goblets of wine, and beamed as he pulled out the chair for her, and she sat down.

"Music… Prokoviev," he called, and a classical strain eased on over the audio system. He reached into the insulating thermal and started punching buttons to synthesize a meal, then cursed in Russian.

"For this we must have something special," he said.

"You went to a lot of trouble," Lestrade shook her head.

"Nothing but the best. I know we did not part on the best of terms, sweetness, but I have not forgotten us."

"Sergey, I don't recall telling you I was coming," Lestrade said suddenly. He brought forth two plates of tossed salad, with tandoori chicken sliced on it, and sat opposite her. Taking her hand he gave it a soft kiss, and she felt the wine tingling through her body.

"I hear many things through my connections," he smiled, and quickly changed the subject when he said, "You remember when we first took our spring break together… and I showed you the sites in Venice?"

"It was a while ago," she said softly. She remembered his parents had a good deal of money, both comfortable business people. Was it her imagination, or did she smell cigarette smoke on his clothes and in his apartment?

"I haven't forgotten that day, when we went rafting in the Colorado River, and you almost fell off your raft," he smiled.

"And Alice screamed," smiled Beth. "She was madder then an electrocuted rat!"

"And her hair was all matted like a poodle," laughed Sergey, as he nibbled his salad and downed half his wine. Beth grinned as he raised an eyebrow at her, challenging her.

"The day you can drink me under is LONG gone," she pouted, as she sipped her glass three quarters dry. He refilled both glasses, and they toasted.

"To old memories, and times yet unsaid… which brings me to ask, how long will you be on Mars?"

"Oh… just till Holmes and I get this case solved."

"I am amazed you actually did it," Sergey said, taking her hand in his. "That takes nerves of steel, bringing a dead man to life."

"I guess your information told you THAT too," she asked.

"News travels fast. I could not help but hear of the reappearance of Sherlock Holmes on the scene of crime fighting. And I knew that only YOU had access to his papers and his body. I never figured you would build up the courage to actually revivify him. You always WERE a big dreamer, Malishka."

"Hey, it worked right?" she asked, shrugging as she played with a strand of her hair and felt a bit giddy from the wine. Sergey reached down and pulled out a pack of Leanovs, and inserted one into his lips. Beth groaned.

"Excuse me… I have become hooked."

"Um… where DID you get that pack of cigarettes?" she asked suddenly as he lit one, and inhaled deeply. "Russian brand? Your favorite?"

"Ah, I figured you would ask," his eyes lit up as smoke filled her face and she felt nauseous.

* * *

Holmes was in the science unit, where Chang and Alvarez had lead him. Both had been quite cooperative since he had imparted his knowledge. Glancing into the microscope, he teased the tobacco apart and examined it. He grunted in his throat, nodding. 

"Now, just take a bit of this, and set it to react," he said to himself.

"As I thought," he muttered. "Russian. Just like what was in the cigarettes. The same brand of tobacco… and unless I'm mistaken…"

Here he pulled another sample from the slipper, and picked up his magnifying glass to look at some strange golden strands. Peeling one off from the cloth slipper, he glanced at it intently. He placed it into a test tube and fitted it into the full spectrum analyzer.

"Identify," he said, irradiating it.

"Complex polymer with double bond units… chlorinated at the terminal ends."

"Aha!" Holmes nodded. "Nusolar. Now why a slipper of tobacco would be exposed to strands of Nusolar unless my hypothesis is correct."

A smile came over his face at his discovery, and he scribbled into his casebook with his pencil, by the notes about the chloride ions he had found in the strand of Nusolar. Taking the ultraviolet wavelengths he beamed it on the sample strand, and it caught fire within seconds.

"By Jove that's it!" he smiled. Then his face twisted in worry.

"But that means…" he trailed off, speaking to nobody in the room. Tearing off his lab smock he grabbed the slipper, and the book, thrusting them into his bag. He pulled on his Inverness and hat, grabbing his cane.

"Lestrade… I've left her in the company of a conspirator. Honestly Sherlock for a 25-year-old you're losing it! There's not telling WHAT he'll do."

Angrily he cursed himself and rushed out of the lab as fast as his legs would carry him. Lestrade was in grave danger, as was everyone else, unless he acted quickly.

* * *

Meanwhile back in Sergey's quarters, the old beau of the Inspector continued to explain himself. Despite his best efforts she was most doubtful of his continued uninvolvement. In fact he seemed altogether proud of himself, she thought. 

"There are many privileges here in the colonies that those on Mother Earth did deny. Here one can live as a true man, without the sterilities of modern life. We are pioneers… Elizabeth, do you know how much freer one can be?" he asked.

"Yes… but I just wondered… I didn't realize that tobacco wasn't outlawed on Mars?" Lestrade protested.

"The soldiers would revolt if it were. We have a forward thinking Commodore," said Sergey.

"I would like to know," Beth wheedled. "I mean…"

"And have your chief inspector ruin a good thing, I think not," he laughed. "Beth, why do you not stay? Your talents and spirit are wasted on the tamed Earth. Here, you could do whatever you desired, and not have to answer to that Grayson."

"What freedom in the space marines?" she asked sarcastically as she sipped more wine.

"Our commander would not expect us to perform any duty he himself would not do," Sergey said as he rubbed her hand, and leaned across to look Beth in the face, his eyes glowing. "And you would be perfect. It would be just like old times…"

"How did you know I'd be here?" she asked, taking off her badge and laying it down. "Just between you and me. I mean… it's weird that I almost crash, and yet you never even asked me about it?"

"I was so overcome with shock," he breathed. His hand moved over to caress her thigh, and squeeze. He moved around the table to put his hand around her shoulder and pull her close for a hot kiss, and she felt his breath in her mouth and his body pressing closer, and his hands creeping steadily up.

"My Beth, my Malish… please stay. I would make it worth your while."

"That's far enough, buster," Beth said as she pushed her ionizer into his chest.

"What is this, one of your jokes?" he laughed.

"No, just common sense," Beth said, her eyes sparking with anger. "You're trying to get your way… get around me, just like you did before."

"Be careful what you say, Malishka," he whispered.

"Why? Because you don't think I'm onto you? It's pretty obvious you've got some racket going. With those RUSSIAN cigarettes everyone was smoking? Where ELSE but from your connections. I know your father runs an illicit tobacco ring on Earth we busted him for. Like father like son. And how about the fact that…"

"I warned you," he said slowly. "Is this how you thank me for the times we shared?"

"No," she said, pushing the ionizer into his chest further. "You're going to pay for pulling one over on me. For pretending to care."

"I only wanted you back, Beth," he said as she stepped back, eyes glaring like blue sparks.

"Stay RIGHT where you are," she said, seizing her badge and holding it in one hand as she aimed her ionizer. "I'm arresting you on suspicion of drug trafficking. Nice TRY, but the law STILL says it's illegal to use tobacco, even on a MILITARY base. And you knew I was coming… and conveniently seemed to take it VERY well… you must KNOW that the ship would crash here… I only told Grayson that I was coming at the last minute when Holmes said he would make his trip. So you MUST have known."

"I think you should stop," Sergey shook his head. "Because it would make me very sad to have something unfortunately befall you."

"Oh please!" she said angrily. "Hands ABOVE your head!"

"I don't think you understand," he said, and clenched his hand to his chest. She rolled her eyes, and in that moment, he grabbed her arm and knocked the weapon from her hand. Twisting her around, he pinioned her arm, and held her under the neck.

"Zed!" Lestrade shouted.

"Don't yell, don't scream," he said slowly. "I want you alive. We are going to get out of here now, little one."

"You let me go you jerk!" she got out before he put his hand over her mouth. When Lestrade attempted to bite down on his hand he slapped a piece of transparent material over to block off her sound, and she felt her own cuffs snap behind her back. Somehow he must have gotten hold of them when he put his hand on her waist.

"Now, Nice and slow," he said, kicking the ionizer under the sofa, and pushing her toward the door. She struggled and fought, but he kept his hands on her. As they entered the hall, she jammed her foot down on his, and he let go in pain. She bolted off down the hallway, Lernov rushing after her.

"Lestrade, come back! If you don't leave with me now I can't be responsible if something happens to you!"

* * *

Holmes ran quicker and quicker down the ultramodern corridors. Where was Lernov's quarters again? Then he berated himself and cursed once more, turning around in the direction of the power station. There came a loud bang, and a hissing as something rumbled the ground, and he saw a bright flash from which he shielded his eyes. 

Red lights and a klaxon blared. Holmes' feet pounded the ground as he heard a series of footsteps and hurried voices. By him in the corridor, space marines shouted and pushed, in various states of dress and undress. Alvarez and Chang were in the group, and saw Holmes with a bit of shock.

"What's going on?" Holmes demanded.

"What are YOU doing here? All Civvies are supposed to report to the space dock!"

"Why my good man?" he asked.

"You dummy, we're under attack!" Chang shouted, and dragged him along. "We have to get you the hell out of here!"

"Under attack, but I must find Lestrade!" he cried.

"If she's got any sense she's headed the same way we are!" should Alvarez as he shouldered his ionizer rifle and secured his helmet.

"But under attack… from some enemy faction?" Holmes asked.

"Would you believe dissidents?" asked Chang. "There's this group on Mars who doesn't want to answer to Earth anymore. And they're sabotaging all sorts of power stations… you mean you didn't know?"

"My good man, that is unfortunate," Holmes cursed as he glanced and the column of hurrying soldiers pushed him along. "But I must find Lestrade."

"Your funeral man… we've only got minutes… the whole power station's exploding. If you don't get out in thirty minutes, the whole place will go sky high!" Chang said.

"The solar panels caused a feedback in the generator, and blew the omega circuit?" Holmes shouted.

"Yeah man!" shouted Alvarez over the wailing klaxon. Strobiscopically it painted their faces that were twisted with worry. Holmes pushed past them, before they could get hold of him.

"Get out…. I'll be back before the last ship leaves, I must find Lestrade!" Holmes shouted.

"Estupidos!" Alvarez shouted as Holmes rushed away. "He'll never make it!"

"Brave idiot," muttered Chang. "He really DOES love the lady cop."

"We'd better made sure to leave one emergency shuttle for them… if we don't get creamed by those dissidents," said Alvarez as they blended into the line of soldiers. Grabbing their oxygen masks they rushed into the airlock, and onto the surface of the planet. Explosions racked the whole complex, but they could not see from where their attackers were coming… but it had been this way before.

Lestrade remembered to leap through her handcuffs so that her hands were in front of her. She reached up to tear the tape off her mouth, and run blindly down the hall towards the living quarters. It was then that all hell broke loose, and the ground vibrated under her.

"Zed… an attack?" she asked as the klaxon drowned out her thoughts, and she heard shouting and commands barking all around her through the intercom.

"Defcon 1… under dissident attack. All civilians report to emergency shuttles. All Marines report to your squad. This is NOT a drill. Repeat this is not a drill…. Dissidents attacking!"

"Since WHEN did this happen?" Lestrade asked herself as she ran along, and down a flight of emergency stairs. Past her rushed a platoon of Space Marines, who were yelling at her to get out.

"Why in hell are you cuffed?" one of them asked.

"Your stupid Lernov… he's a smuggler!" she shouted.

"Why are you going that way?" asked the two soldiers when she ran past the group into the main hall. Just before the airlock she saw two familiar faces from the chess match earlier.

"There you are!" shouted Chang. "Doncha know your boyfriend's looking for you?"

"What?" Lestrade asked, struggling with her cuffs.

"Who did THAT?" Alvarez asked.

"One guess…" Lestrade gritted. Alvarez grabbed his utility knife and fitted it under the cuffs. On the lowest setting he cut through them, and they dropped to the floor.

"Lernov, no way!" said Chang, shaking his head.

"You got to get out! He went that way!" shouted Alvarez. "Towards the power generators!"

"Holmes!" She screamed as they grabbed her and tried to take her.

"All civilians gotta go, that's orders," Chang said.

"Let me go you buckets of zed!" she shouted, and twisted from their grasp, and raced down the hall.

"Man… she's crazy!"

"Go on you two!" the Commander shouted. "Outside now!"

"Sir, yes sir!" they shouted as they joined the platoon, and glanced anxiously back. Before he exited, Chang punched the nearest emergency panel and typed in the command for one ship to stay behind if they should be defeated.

Lestrade spun around. Right in front of her she raised the muzzle of her ionizer pistol. "Freeze!" she shouted, trying to sound brave.

"Good heavens Lestrade, I'm not the enemy, am I?"

Sighing, she lowered her gun. "You scared ten years off my existence," she scolded him. "Where were you?"

"Looking for you."

"I was so worried!" she snapped, throwing herself at him. "I don't know whether to strangle you or embrace you."

Holmes felt hot blood burning his face as she threw her arms around him anxiously. The force almost knocked him backwards. Without a second's hesitation he'd grasped her to himself. His arms slid around her waist.

"Well, seems to me your arms are ahem… around my neck in a position that does not seem to indicate throttling me," he observed. "What's this? You're shaking considerably."

"So are you," she said.

"Must be an instinctive response manifested in the reflexive shiver of muscles?" Holmes said, and then realized that they were embracing. Then they jumped apart; realizing the boundaries had been crossed. For a moment each had forgotten the other's inhibitions. What seemed so natural suddenly felt awkward.

"Where is everybody?" he asked.

"They are evacuating the station. We have got to get out of here while we still can."

"I think we'd have a better chance if we stayed and fought."

"Did you fail to see their weapons?" Lestrade asked him. "At least as advanced as our ionizers. We don't stand a chance, just the two of us."

"Very well. Lead the way, Inspector!"

One after the other, Holmes and Lestrade raced down the corridor. Holmes carried one of the duffel bags he'd tossed some clothing into. Lestrade had her computer and some various belongings also in a hold-all. Carefully they threaded their way through the maze.

"Troops are evacuating… we can't hold them. Alert… stand by for evacuation. Destruction will happen in five minutes."

"Good Lord what are they doing?"

"Dissidents," Holmes said firmly. "Which I believe is poppycock… but our lives are still in danger, and so are all the innocents…"

"Lernov he's a…"

"I know he's a smuggler, but he's not our main enemy," Holmes cut her off.

"Excuse me, he just tried to…" she stammered.

"Kidnap you," Holmes said as they ran along. "He must have known this so called attack would happen."

"But all those space marines?" Lestrade panted.

"Will be perfectly fine. Once they find that this emergency was not caused by an attack from ersatz dissidents, they will return. But I surmise that we had best make our getaway now… for it will be quite a while before they CAN return."

"What?" Lestrade gasped.

"Because, knowing how the military mind works, they will comb every inch of this base to find evidence of sabotage, which they will, and our man Lernov will be the scapegoat," Holmes told her.

"Zed, that's crazy!" Lestrade protested.

"I know… but we have to let them believe that we were lost in the shuffle if we are to catch who is responsible," said Holmes.

Lestrade didn't' argue as she ran to the space airlocks. There were shuttles taking off, with civilians onboard, the families of the officers and enlisted that were living on the base. As she punched into the code database, she slammed the wall in anger. IT was so hard to think with the klaxon wailing in her ear.

"ZED!" the Inspector cursed.

"What's wrong?" Holmes asked, till he looked over her shoulder, and saw the words, "Solar ships rendered incapable of flight. Only beryllium available."

"There is one ship that is a short range shuttle. It operates on Beryllium. We could use it to get off Mars," she sighed.

"Whatever you say, Inspector," said Holmes. He was too winded to argue. Just running took all his energy.

Quickly Lestrade punched in the access code to the second airlock. "Won't we need spacesuits?" he asked.

"There is no time. We have got to get on board now."

Through the de-pressurized tunnel they pushed themselves. Lestrade coded her entry through another small keypad. A circular hatch spiraled open into a small cabin. Unlike the _William Wallace_, the shuttle cabin only had four seats. Two up front for a pilot and copilot, and a couch in back for passengers. Across the front was a forward viewing port surrounded with flickering displays. Red lights illuminated the small space, scarcely larger than the space inside a small sedan.

They dumped their possessions into a small locker at the rear of the craft. Lestrade secured the magnetic locks. She pushed her way past Holmes and climbed into the pilot's seat. Holmes dropped into the one opposite. In the center between the two-bucket, swivel-seats was a simple joystick control. Recessed panels directly in front of Lestrade looked as a person could lay their five fingers into them comfortably. Immediately above the wells were four or five sectioned panels of displays, completely digital.

"Are you quite certain you can fly this craft?" Holmes asked, not exactly certain they should trust her pilot skills. Hovercraft were one thing, but a space ship?"

"Would you like to give it a shot? Flying a class twelve transport shuttle?"

"Very well, you have made your point, Inspector. Better you than me," Holmes sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Strap yourself in, and hang on. This may be somewhat rough," said Lestrade.

"What? No exact figures?" Holmes couldn't resist needling.

Lestrade ignored Holmes. Automatically she threw the switches for takeoff. To her, pre-launch checks were simple. She grasped the joystick control lever in her left hand, and edged it forwards. "Standby for retro-ignition! Fire!"

"That's the range locator. And the astral map's on your left. Can you chart position?" Lestrade asked him.

"I'll give it a go," he said, clicking his safety harness into place. He'd managed to buckle the safety harness straps before Lestrade completed her elaborate dance. Holmes glanced at a central square display, between the longitude and velocity displays on the copilot panel. "Is this similar to the principle of radar?"

"Crudely yes," she answered. "Firing up power . . . now . . . Disengaging gravimetric locks."

Holmes wondered why she bothered saying each step out loud. But he recalled that a person often needed to talk their way through a complex procedure. Lestrade was no different from any other human in this respect. For a second the whole station shuddered with a blast impact. Even though neither could hear the explosion, they felt the shocks all too well.

"That was close enough for me," he said. "Cast off with all due haste."

Static stars finally shifted in the viewing port. A schematic of the station traced on the location display in front of Holmes. A single star pulled out from the station facsimile as Holmes heard the retrorockets boom.

Another star crept from the other side of the Wheel. "Lestrade, they've dispatched a craft in pursuit!" announced Holmes.

"Yes. I saw. Increasing velocity to 100,000 kph!" Lestrade nodded.

Only slightly were they pushed back in their chairs. Forward stars shifted a little faster. Flickering displays cast their cryptic messages across Lestrade's darkened face. They were the only light in the shuttle cabin besides the starlight outside. Holmes wished he could have a three hundred-sixty-degree view of the space around them instead of this computer diagram. It was a poor substitute for the real thing.

"I'm sure we don't stand a chance but I'd feel better making a stand," Holmes said.

"Be reasonable! Do you think we'd prove anything by sacrificing ourselves needlessly?" Lestrade protested.

"I suppose we wouldn't," he sighed. Holmes felt slight relief as he heard the retrorockets boom.

No knobs or analog switches stood up on the panel in front of Holmes. Out the forward viewing port he saw the diamond stars glisten. They weren't concerned with the frantic chase before them. Two people crammed into the compact space raced for their lives.

"Our friends are far too close for comfort," Holmes commented.

"I am watching it, yes!" Lestrade snapped.

Explosions jarred their craft. "That one was positively on top of us, Lestrade!" he muttered, hanging onto his chair. "Can we not fire back?"

"This ship is not equipped with offensive equipment," she said.

"How unfortunately ironic," he sighed.

"I'm going to try to loose them in the asteroid belt . . . then loop around on the other side," Lestrade explained.

Holmes felt more in his league. Most of the time he could paste his experience into whatever circumstance he faced. Whenever he landed on an alien planet or in an alien time he had some inkling of what to do. Most of the societies he'd visited in the nineteenth century were remotely understandable. With his intelligence and intuition he could discern what to do. Nevertheless, he was always with someone who would do something if he couldn't. Lestrade was at home with the technology.

Across the star field whizzed a football-sized lump. Two meteors crashed and showered sparks on the viewing port. Each stone had its own idea. "How can you be sure you're not going to hit one?"

"Simple. I've data on the trajectory of each one . . . judging for deviations due to our course I've computed the least points encounter, " Lestrade said.

How would he fly the ship? Lestrade tensely charted the most logical trajectory through dozens of boulders. How could she remain so calm? A marble statue, she firmly clenched the control stick and fixed her eyes to the control readouts. Scores of asteroids filled the forward view. Each whirred on its independent course around the sun.

Flashes and bangs tossed Holmes against the safety harness. He felt horizontal bands pulling across his hips and chest. "What's their position?" she asked him.

"Five kilometers, and closing fast!"

The two stars grew inevitably closer on the view screen. Tiny letters identified each craft. Holmes felt his heart pounding in his chest. He fixed his concentration on the star representing the shuttle. As if he could make them move faster by praying. "Can't you go any faster in this crate?"

"If we maneuver any faster, we could wrap this around a rock!" Lestrade snapped.

"What if we did?" Holmes asked her, eyes still glued to the screen.

"What?"

"If they thought we hit an asteroid, and exploded, perhaps they'd loose interest?" Holmes suggested.

"But they could still track us!"

"Not if you found an asteroid to hide in, Inspector," Holmes said with a smirk.

"That's an idea," she said, looking at him for a second. "But they might not be fooled by such a simple trick."

"Got a better idea? If so, please tell me now, or forever hold your peace," Holmes snorted.

"Yes. Your plan with slight modifications. We cut our engines, and maneuver behind one of the larger asteroids. Hopefully the nickel/iron content will block their scanners. But how are we going to get them to think we destructed?"

"I think even you wouldn't object to a so called old trick. Flush some rubbish out to make them think we blew up . . . but before we do that, can you make them that this ship is an asteroid ready to hit them?" Holmes mused, stroking his chin with one hand.

"I can jam their visual scanners with a burst message to scramble," she said.

"Yes. It's obvious they're flying by navigational then," Holmes nodded. "And then make them think they see our ship ahead of them. Make them think we exploded. There are two asteroids large enough to hide behind. And some stony meteorites ahead."

"All right then. Before you is the jammer," she said, punching buttons. "This will take split second timing. Now, we're only ten thousand kilometers from Ceres. When I tell you _rock_, camouflage this ship as a meteoroid with this button. When I tell you _ship_, you create a ship directly in front of their craft with this button, and this third one will jettison debris from the rear."

Seconds ticked by as the explosions increased. Holmes felt his head whip back and forth. His brains seemed to jar and jostle in his skull. Again he fixed his entire concentration on the second star, and punched the series of buttons as well as he could, despite the ultramodern technology.

"I don't believe it! You did it!" she cried, slapping him on the back. Holmes rubbed his aching temples and forced away his headache.

"They really thought our ship blew up!"

"That was some fancy flying," he said. "Splendid job, Lestrade!"

"I wish I could have seen their faces when they thought an asteroid appeared out of nowhere! But the clincher was when they thought they saw an enemy ship."

"Wouldn't they be surprised that two detective pulled the wool over their eyes," Holmes laughed, grabbing her on the shoulder and squeezing it excitedly. "There's just one thing I want to know. Where did you learn to fly like that?"

"Lesson seventeen, New Scotland Yard spacecraft training. The barrel role, a technique used in dogfights in World War I, but it actually worked!"

Lestrade tightly grabbed his hands as she involved Holmes in her victory dance. For the first time she felt alive. His heart pounded in his chest and the sweat poured down his forehead. Only seconds from death his cool analytical mind had ticked away as usual with the surging adrenaline coursing beneath it. Now Holmes duplicated the natural high, mimicking her crazy dance.

"We did it!" they cried simultaneously. "What a team!"

Lestrade jumped up and down, and hugged him tight. Holmes could share the exhilaration as he hugged her tightly to himself. The inspector kissed him smack on both cheeks repeatedly.

"Hurrah for the living computer!" she laughed. "Eyes and brains Holmes, just what you said!"

"I'll say. You did exceptionally well, Lestrade!"

Both of them stopped, wrapped in each other's arms. Lestrade's thighs and hips pressed up against Holmes's body. He became aware of the smooth curves of her body, and shivered the smile from his face. Confusion filled Lestrade's features. "I . . . I got carried away," she said.

"I . . . I'm sorry Inspector," he apologized, sliding his arms back. He still grasped her waist. Silently, she recalled the cultural chasm that separated them both. Lestrade originated from an ultramodern city where she embraced no ethnic heritage. In contrast, Holmes struggled to preserve his Victorian culture with every breath he took.

Still, she fixed her gaze into his. A longing filled Sherlock, a desire to feel the warmth of someone's arms. Here he was a nineteenth century detective, in the arms of a twentieth- second century woman. He'd never had the urge to be this close with a woman before, except save THE Woman… Irene nee Adler…and even then the thought of doing things that they did in this century was making him blush. Lestrade was nothing like the women of his time. This felt good. Very good. Better than a solved equation. Not for the first time, his eyes and brains could not quantify the sensation. For one awkward moment they stood apart, gasping for breath like they'd run a marathon.

Lestrade knew from how his body was stiffening close to hers that he was suddenly feeling the urge to check this bohemian display of behavior, and she felt her cheeks flushing bright red. They both backpedaled quickly; not able or wanting to look one another in the face. Holmes was ashamed of his lack of self-control, and Lestrade was embarrassed at crossing the line. Suddenly the need to keep that distance out of fear of endangering their close friendship was the most important thing. They had to work together, and she didn't want to ruin a good thing.

"I just thought of something," he gasped. "Do you know exactly where we're headed?"

"I did engage the auto pilot," said she, then smiled. "If you'd used your own eyes and brains you'd notice right?"

"I suppose I would have, but considering you were just as frightened as I was," he said. Carefully he adjusted his vest, and brushed off his trousers. For the moment Lestrade forgot the pounding of fear. Of the fact they might not survive from one minute to the next. All tension vanished as she relaxed. That computer-like brain of his reeled. Folding his arms across his chest, he cleared his throat and sat carefully down into the co-pilot's seat.

"I'm moving us out of the plane of the belt," she announced.

"Maybe then we can assess the situation better. In case those attackers return?" he agreed, suddenly observing that she was starting to grow very serious as if a memory had been jarred loose. She swallowed hard, and he watched the muscles in her neck and face tighten.

"Good point," she nodded. That was much too quick of an agreement, Holmes thought carefully. Why was she suddenly not responding to their comfortable bickering? Had his sudden burst of lack of self control and her own disrupted their careful working relationship, or was it something else.

"Just move us to the path of another cluster of asteroids. I'll keep an eye on the scanner for any ships approaching. We'll set her in drift for an hour, then make our call," he said with a hint of command.

"So what's stopping you?" she bantered back, and Holmes saw a hint of the old Lestrade.

"Whom shall I call?" Holmes asked meekly.

"Try and get Lernov. He's probably headed for one of the Inner stations near Mars. But let me do the talking," she said.

"Yes, Inspector," he saluted her. For the next hour or so, Lestrade wound her way out of the major Asteroid belt. Aggression from the past argument she allowed to melt away. Slowly she focused her mind on the task at hand. And found it difficult to do so.

Holmes sat near her, listening with a small earpiece to all the static. Lestrade had reluctantly taught him to program the computer to scan for signals. The computer filtered out all the bandwidths and narrowed the field to transmissions within normal comm. waves. Then, it cross-referenced that with its file of known interplanetary communication bandwidths. It was a lot like scanning for people's fingerprints or other clues, in fact.

"I've been listening to most of the disaster reports," said Holmes. "Most of the nuclear ships are limping to the nearest bases. There's been another of those strange distortion waves."

"Any news from the Station?" asked Lestrade.

"No. I've tried contacting the _William Wallace_. But all I'm getting is static."

"Perhaps they can't answer?" she said simply.

"Or perchance they dare not," he muttered, then turned his head to face her. "I can deduce what you're about to say, Lestrade."

"Are you a mind reader now?" she asked irritably.

"You think I'm drawing attention to us with calling them?"

"Naturally. But you're probably going to tell me you're using the signal scrambler. Damn you MUST be a mind reader."

"It's assessing probabilities," he said simply. "I base my prediction on what's going to happen, according to the scientific method."

"Really," she muttered, almost bored with the silence. Both consoled themselves by looking out the view ports.

"Do you think the _Wallace_ got the distress call?" Lestrade asked.

"I should certainly hope so. An pray they have the good sense to stay well away."

Lestrade swallowed, and stared straight into the perpetual midnight. For a moment Holmes discerned her twinge of sadness present in her face. Right beneath her cool, calm exterior. "Are you all right?" he asked her.

"It's nothing," she said dismissively, the wall going up around her emotions again.

"You're worried about your fellow inspectors on the station... and if they all got away? Am I correct?" he asked softly.

"If those ships chased us... than there's a seventy percent chance that at least one in ten ships were caught," Lestrade sighed.

"I know. I'm hoping the _Wallace_ had the sense to get away," said Holmes.

"Our larger escape ships are armed with x-ray lasers. And enough fuel to get us to Galileo City," she muttered, punching buttons on the scanner before her.

"You see, if your friends have the training you have displayed, they should naturally be safe and well. Remember that the power was turned on."

"Yes, but…" Lestrade sighed. For a few moments she sat in awkward silence. She took occasional glances down towards her left. Holmes noted how her eyes flicked between him, and the stars outside. Red light transformed the hues of his clothing plaid into crimson and blood squares.

"Wait, I'm getting something," he said suddenly, sitting up straight. "It's rather faint but still discernible."

She motioned for him to put it on speaker. Faintly the static blanketed a fragmented message: **_...to craft gamma..._**

"Inspector Lestrade of New Scotland Yard here, identify yourself!" said Lestrade, speaking to the ceiling, Holmes thought. A fine metal halo outlined the ship against the asteroid field. If Holmes increased the magnification he could see tiny metal shrapnel spewing from one pierced dome.

Lestrade's voice tracked over the microphone. "This is Shuttle Gamma-Delta-three, from Sagan City on Mars... responding to your distress signal. Do you comply?"

The tiny ship coasted closer. Now the Aries class ship filled the entire forward view port. Holmes shivered through his concentration. Strained to block out every stray thought. Surely by now he'd have heard something.

_**... Craft gamma... in distress... in need of repairs...**_

Through the one side ran a jagged slit. Like someone had taken a pair of scissors and ripped right down the side of the passenger corridor. A long burn mark nearly obscured the name of the ship, _Bradbury Liner Gamma_. From the wound, a long white plume emanated. Slowly the craft drifted under power of the material stringing into space.

"Explosive decompression," she murmured. "Not caused by asteroids..."

"Lestrade," he said softly. "We may as well go on. They weren't hailing us, they were giving their name."

Slowly she rose from her chair. Fixed her dark eyed gaze on the scene. The oddest space debris floated ever closer to their shuttle. Strange swollen shapes in silver oozed crimson droplets that slowly boiled away. Silver sheathed space rations drifted unused into the void. Small white objects fluttered in a cyclone around the front view port.

"Lestrade..," he said again. "Let's get out of here... quickly. We cannot help a dead crew!"

"Yes," she said, and hit the main throttle. "Hold on!"

But why was she still standing up? Her knees were shaking so, despite her blank countenance. The large paper cyclone veered suddenly off to the left and off the screen. Replacing it was a fine field of other floating debris. Pieces of an engine, fuselage, and glass drifted around their ship. Right across their of site whizzed a metal panel.

"Oh no!" Lestrade cried.

"What?" Holmes asked.

"The Alpha nine shuttle! It's been destroyed!"

"But the craft we just saw wasn't a ship from the Mars colony was it not?" Holmes blinked in confusion.

"I'm talking about the cloud of metal we just passed through," she said. "Not the ship."

"But that liner?" he asked.

"Was a cruise ship... with nearly two hundred people on board... from Mars!" Lestrade gasped in horror.

"And the cloud of metal nearby it was a ship, too?" said Holmes. "That's quite horrible to contemplate."

"I'm afraid you don't comprehend just how bad," she said.

"Which space station was it from?" Holmes queried.

"Lowell city, where my friend Lernov was stationed," she said, closing her eyes, and clenching her fists. "I read the name on the metal panel as it just shot by the view port."

"Obviously someone with whom you were well acquainted?" asked Holmes softly.

"We… were… intimate," Lestrade whispered. "We knew one another at the Academy… and because he went to Mars, we broke it off."

"I'm sorry Lestrade, I truly am," he said with compassion in his gray eyes as he looked at her in concern.

"I just don't know if we can make it out of here," she whispered, chin quivering. Sherlock didn't know of anything he could say to ease the pain. For all he knew, the people on the Wallace could also be dead. Holmes stood behind her, and grasped her shoulders. He could feel her shivering muscles tighten.

"Surely they wouldn't all be destroyed. We got away," he finally said. "So the others must be someplace else."

"You don't understand," she snapped, and dark hair swirled as she spun around. "We could be next. They could be anywhere, preying on ships that pass by."

"You don't know that for certain," he said. "This could have been a natural phenomenon."

"It's a perfect strategy. Disable the nuclear hydrogen drives with some sort of device, and prey on the passing ships."

"Surely asteroids could have pulverized that ship, or it could have blown up."

"I know explosive blasts when I see them! The chances of a shuttle spontaneously exploding are a million to one!"

As the ship coursed on autopilot, she leaned against the control panel. Dark hair eclipsed as she inclined her head. "I just don't know what to do anymore," she sighed. "If we stay here, we could be destroyed. But if we go along the evacuation path... we could be destroyed."

"But doesn't this shuttle have enough fuel get someplace safe?" Holmes asked. "Think Lestrade, put those brains to use!"

"Yes. Each shuttle is allotted with enough Beryllium to make it to a Mars station," she grumbled, vexed by his verbal jab. Good, Holmes nodded, hoping to break her out of her fear induced funk by his verbal prodding.

"Well, is that your rendezvous, another station on Mars?" he asked, with a slight grin.

"Yes," she sighed.

"Then keep your course for a return trip to Mars, and we'll go there. Then we'll find out who's alive. On the way, we'll keep radio silence."

"But it's logical to assume they've deduced our flight path... and are ambushing the shuttles!" cried Lestrade.

"Well, then set the radar to give an alarm you can hear, when it detects a ship! And turn off the hailing signal," Holmes said, matter of fact.

"They can trace our Beryllium ion trail!" she snapped.

"But we cannot stay here forever," said Holmes, leaning back in his chair and lowering his voice to bring her back to reality yet again. "I fancy our chances would be better en route to Mars, not sitting here like ducks on a lake."

"All right," she sighed, and resumed her seat. Once more she punched in the coordinates, cudgeling her tired brain for a flight path.

"We will get through this," he said softly, touching her on the arm. "As long as we're still alive there's a chance. And we have a ship, air, and fuel. That's what matters right now. An you look as if you could use something to eat."

"How can you think of eating when we could be destroyed at any minute?" she asked, irritated.

"It's a basic need to survive. And we need both our eyes and brains working their best to help us get away..."

"Holmes, what's wrong with me? I feel like I'm losing control!"

Her lip quivered. Tears slipped through her eyelashes as she shut them. He realized the verbal bantering needed to stop, and another approach was required to help draw her out of the dark grip of fear. "You just need rest. Eat something to get your strength back. I'll be just a minute."

He returned with something in her hands. A couple squeeze bottles of some liquid he set in the pull out tray. Then he handed a packet wrapped in silver foil to Lestrade, while keeping the other for himself. Carefully he spread his Inverness over the seat beneath him as he sat again. He thought for one funny minute about that astronaut ice cream they sold at the Galileo City on the Moon. It was a novelty item the gift shops sold. Essentially it was a brick of freeze dried sugar, which tasted nothing like real ice cream.

With her fingernails Lestrade expertly slipped the seal, and unwrapped what looked like a granola bar. Quite calmly she nibbled minuscule bites off and stared out the window.

"You recall that I can tell a person's emotional state by their facial expressions?" Sherlock began, between bites. "Well, pardon me for pointing this out, but I did observe fear with a capital F written all over your face. And well, it seems that your unflappable state is very much thrown out of equilibrium..."

"I'm not used to being frightened," she said.

"Considering the odds of us surviving are 1.6x104 to one," Holmes joked.

"Stop trying to forget you have emotions," said Lestrade as she nibbled more concentrates. "You're not Mr. Spock, you know."

"Who's that?" Holmes asked, missing the reference to his embarrassment.

"It doesn't matter," she laughed suddenly, and it was a good sign that Lestrade was calming down with his show of comradely concern over her hunger and thirst needs being met. "You haven't lived till you've seen an episode of _Star Trek_."

He reached across the aisle, and placed his hand atop hers. To his surprise she turned her hand over and took his gently. He allowed himself to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. Over his shoulder she noticed the message light flickering urgently.

"Do you recognize this?" he asked.

"Yes! It's a transmission from a spaceship... the _William Wallace_!"

"Good!" Holmes nodded, shivering at the fact they were holding hands. That line had been again crossed.

"Computer, begin voice link! This is Inspector Lestrade of New Scotland Yard, on Shuttle Delta Gamma nine. What is your status?"

* * *


	8. Deception

**A Study in Solar**

_**Part 6**_

By Trynia Merin

* * *

"Wait, am I insane or wasn't the Wallace destroyed?" Lestrade suddenly whispered.

"I was waiting for you to make that observation," Holmes said with a smirk.

"Remind me to strangle you later," she growled.

"Well, I am just seeing if you're on your toes. Considering you told me to contact Lernov, someone who was clearly instrumental in creating problems…"

"Drop it Holmes," she warned.

"Shuttle gamma nine, how can you be the Wallace?" asked Holmes.

"We made the necessary repairs," came the reply.

"We're in no need of assistance," Holmes replied, holding a finger to his lips as Lestrade opened her mouth to say something.

"What in Zed are you doing?" Lestrade stammered.

"Shush, things are not as they seem," he said. "Trust me… I know what I'm doing," he urged, whispering in her ear as he stroked hr back.

"Clarify that Holmes?" said the voice, and Lestrade noticed his eyebrow lift, and it set her as being strange that they immediately could identify him since he didn't give his name!

"Have you seen the attackers and are they still in the vicinity?" Holmes asked.

"Negative. They seem to have escaped. Are you entirely certain you do not need help?" asked the voice, more instantly.

"UI would attend to the matter of the debris field near asteroid… er… Ceres and see if there are any survivors," Holmes said quickly. "I am en route to the rendezvous point as specified for evacuation."

"Copy, Holmes. We await your arrival."

"Thank you and good day," Holmes said and cut the channel. He turned to Lestrade, who looked at him as if he'd sprouted a second head.

"What in the nine planets are you doing?" she shouted.

"My dear Lestrade, please listen!" he urged. "I want to explain, but you have to calm down…"

"I… you…" she shook her head, her hand pressed to it.

"Please Lestrade; you know I always have a good reason for what I do. You have to trust me."

"This makes NO sense at all, you won't even explain… Dammit Holmes are we partners or not?" she shouted. "Zed why are you making me need to visit the brain techs? Can't you at least warn me that you're going to do something instead of making me look like a stupid idiot? I'm SICK of being manipulated by people who think they know what's BEST for me! First Lernov and now YOU!"

"Lestrade, you're shaking… steady on," Holmes urged. "You've got to calm down. And I'm speaking to you not just as a colleague but as a close friend… I insist you listen… because your safety and mine depends upon trusting me."

"Zed… I'm so confused… first you're excited that it's the Wallace and… what is going on?" she sniffled, unable to control the ups and downs she was feeling in her mood.

"Lestrade, I think nobody died, at all," he said, leaning over the seat, his grey eyes serious and not mocking or patronizing in their expression. "I think given the evidence it was all an elaborate ruse, designed to throw any nosy parties off the scent… and cover a most diabolical scheme."

"Oh here you go again," she groaned, weary of arguing because her emotions were drained, and her nerves were frayed to the breaking point. "I don't think I can take much more of this."

"Lernov and the others are not dead. In fact the transport has probably reached Mars safely. Especially when command hears that there was no sign of any dissidents attacking."

"Holmes you and I saw them!" Lestrade protested.

"What you saw were a series of explosions, which was caused by the detonation of the Nusolar and the feedback caused by the power converters overloading. With a few bangs and flashes. It's all smoke and mirrors, or the modern day equivalent," Holmes reassured her. "And look here."

She glanced down at his long slender fingers punching a few buttons on the screen keypad, and he directed her to look at the display of the debris field. Numbers flickered over the screen, and she looked to him in shock and anger, "What are you doing that for?"

"I measured the mass of the apparent object that debris field represents, and compared it to the standard mass of a patrol cruiser… that you told me was destroyed. The two weights do not match. There are quite a lot of pieces missing, wouldn't you say?"

Lestrade compared the two numbers, and shook her head in disbelief. Again the cold hard facts had undermined her reality, and she felt like she would go crazy in a minute. Exhaustion and lack of food, combined with the emotional roller coaster was sapping every ounce of her control.

"All right, Holmes, but you said it was the Wallace! What was THAT all about?"

"How did they know it was I?" Holmes queried.

"Zed, I hate it when you answer a question with a question!" Lestrade growled. "They must have recognized your voice of course."

"On the contrary, only the Earl of Cameron, William knew my name and my voice, and the captain Gregory, since you did most of the talking," Holmes pointed out.

"So, if it wasn't the Wallace, then who was it, Encyclopedia Holmes?" she asked him, folding her arms across her chest indignantly. Their banter was giving her something familiar to hang her reality on for the moment.

"The very craft which 'simulated' an attack," Holmes said. "And is now supposedly saving survivors."

"That's insane and you know it!" Lestrade laughed ironically. "You mean someone played a huge trick?"

"Indeed. An elaborate hoax to cover their trail and give an airtight alibi for what was really transpiring," Holmes nodded. I took the liberty of speaking to Watson whilst you were elsewhere, and he confirmed that two employees from Solarex were working at Nusolar. One was a gentleman named Rossini, and the other was named Alvarez."

"No way, you mean… wait… Alvarez is a common name," she shook her head.

"On the contrary, Watson showed me image files, and I knew when I saw the gathering in the mess hall who I should focus on."

"So that chess game… was just a trick to get them to spill?" Lestrade asked.

"Precisely," Holmes nodded with pride. "It also explains what I saw over your shoulder when you rang up on the display screen for any available ships and found this one. It was the only one available, because nobody was in immediate danger… and it was none other than Alvarez and Chang who left the command for us to take it…"

"Wait a nanosecond," she threw up her hands. "If that's the case are they in it with… Lernov?"

"Not fully," Homes corrected her. "Their only interest is tobacco and other contraband that Lernov's employers can provide in exchange for information. Lernov is only a link in a collaborative chain and is unaware of the true scope of his ringleader's plan."

"What is this plan?" she asked. "Though you're going to tell me if I ask you or not…"

"Facts are pointing to a possible attempt to buy 0.1 more stock and add it to the 50 holdings in Nusolar for a corporate takeover," said Holmes. "With the proceeds gained from smuggled contraband. The cigarettes that everyone smoked were Russian tobaccos, the same scent I smelled on your gentleman caller. And the same brand of tobacco was in the slipper I… er won in a chess match. Clearly he was the source."

"Zed… that… that… toe rag!" Lestrade exploded hands over her face. "It was true... he was trying to fool me!"

"Lestrade?" Holmes said as she tore at her hair. "Did he hurt you in any way… did he defile your honor? Your reaction to him possibly being dead evoked distrust and yet… you grieve at his loss."

"Why do you have to be so zedding nice!" she cried, shaking from head to toe in her chair. Burying her hands in her face she finally broke down, sobbing.

"Lestrade," he sighed, and reached over to stroke her hair. "Please… I'm not asking you as your colleague, but as your friend again. If that blackguard has defiled your honor in any way, I promise you he'll face the consequences and answer to me personally!"

She raised her head from his shoulder and gaped at him, shaking her head. "I… can't believe what I'm hearing… this isn't some Victorian macho trip! It's not professional… and you zedding know he'd… you don't have anything to prove!"

"Please Lestrade," he urged, reaching over to take her hand and press it with his own before releasing it again. "Tell me. You're obviously distressed, and it may help to tell me. I promise it will be strictly confidential, between us and will not leave the confines of this room, since it is of a highly personal nature."

"Oh to absolute zero with it!" she sobbed, burying her head in her hand. Relinquishing her last shred of self-control, she let the tears burn down her cheeks. Holmes reached across the aisle to stroke her shoulder reassuringly and give it a firm squeeze. He softly whispered to her and shushed her, letting her cry. Anger boiled up in his stomach, and he found it was more intense than the mere anger at a friend, even a close friend like Watson being wronged.

"You can trust me," he whispered into her ear as he leaned further out of his seat. "If you're familiar with Watson's journals you know I abide by my promise and word as a gentleman."

"Not like this… I didn't want it to come to this," Beth sobbed. Sherlock sighed and realized she was exposing her soul to him, and it made him equally uncomfortable. He wasn't sure of what to say, for the first time in ages, and felt that the only thing he could do was comfort her like a mother or father consoles their children.

A mental image flickered into his mind, a memory of the new Baker Street Irregulars. _Deidre, Wiggins and Tennyson had been out late as usual, shortly after he started using them as his eyes and ears, selling travel brochures and offers to give tours. He remembered Watson interrupting his music lesson to tell him that Tennyson's emergency message had gone off, and they were needed. It took them only minutes to rush out and track his homing signal to find them._

_Wiggins and Deidre had closed ranks to defend their friend, from some street thieves who were harassing them. Credits were strewn all over the streets with crushed vid discs as Wiggin's fists flew, and Deidre had swung her purse, angrily beating them off as Tennyson frantically typed into his keyboard. A loud wailing blast came from his synthesizer, and it angered the punks even more by the time Watson and Holmes arrived._

_A few quick punches and shots from Watson's stun ray sent them packing, and Wiggins breathed in and out, gasping as he saw Holmes and Watson bending over them. While Watson probed them for injuries, Holmes saw how scared and vulnerable they all seemed. Anger built up inside of him, and he saw Deidre trying hard not to cry, and Tennyson looking anxiously up with fear in his eyes._

_All he could do was to put his arms around both and tell them they were safe, and that they would be all right. Deidre had let herself go, and buried her face in his coat, uncharacteristically breaking down now that the fight was over. Tennyson's hand gripped that of Holmes and Watson also leaned over in worry and his attempts to comfort them. Deidre wept tears of shame and Holmes looked down at her face, streaked with makeup as she glanced up at him._

_He then gave her a kiss on the top of her head and told her how brave she was, and that there was nothing to cry about, because she had acquitted herself well. This somehow cheered her up, and she was able to breathe more easily. His hand had tightened on Tennyson's shoulder while he kept hold of Deirdre, and Watson made sure everyone was all right. They had then all piled into the coach hovercraft and back to Baker Street for hot chocolate and biscuits while he called their parents and told them they were all right. But seeing them all in his parlor made him realize they were the closest he had to family, besides Watson._

_That circle included Lestrade. She was like the vigilant den mother, and he was some sort of paternal figure in these children's lives. Especially how may times he and Watson helped them with homework, or encouraged them to stop by if they had any problems. Even though they had parents, Holmes sensed that the bonds he was forging with the youth, Watson, and Lestrade was far beyond mere friendship. They were misfits who had to stick together._

_Holmes didn't let many people into his inner circle. Only Watson had been truly privy to whom he really was, and that had taken many years of trust. Why was he willing to surrender to this woman who had turned all his notions of the fair sex upside down? Her and Deirdre that is. Neither female was anything like the retiring creatures that he recalled. Yet he had known women who had challenged his misconception._

"There now… shhh… shush now," he whispered softly, as he had done to Deirdre. Lestrade felt safe as he got up out of his chair and moved across the aisle to lean over and wrap her in a rather awkward hug. It was a bit stiff, but well intentioned as he leaned down on one knee so they were on the same level. She felt as she had when her brother would comfort her.

_After a day of being picked on by the other girls who called her brace face, and brain, and tomboy, and ugly duckling. He taught her how to defend herself, and to shield her sensitive nature with an iron thick wall that kept out their jeers. How to fight back when needed, and how to avoid fights. George Lestrade was five years her senior, born of a long line of cops that reached back years. Her mother had been a schoolteacher. And yet her younger sister was the doll and the spoiled brat. She was stuck in the middle, neither a boy nor a pretty doll that meekly did what mom and dad said._

When the sobs stopped, she lifted her head from Holmes' shoulder, and wiped at her eyes. Through the blur she saw his concerned scowl, eyes slate gray with anger. Taking his handkerchief from his pocket he raised it up and dabbed away the tears streaking down her cheeks.

"You're being so nice," she whispered again. "And um… not really Victorian? A little more familiar then your gentleman sensibilities?"

"Does that surprise you, Lestrade?" he asked.

"You're sometimes so cold… so… I mean Zed, if someone was even to TOUCH you you'd go nuclear!"

"I may be a gentleman, but I do have feelings like the rest of mankind, and I am not immune to the feelings of other men… er human beings. Especially those I call friends. I am not heartless, as you have doubtless come to believe," Holmes said regretfully. "I simply master my emotions so they do not cloud my judgment. But there is no shame in being distressed Lestrade."

"If you say it's because I'm a woman I'll kick your tail," she sniffled and he handed her the handkerchief.

"I was, but I won't," Holmes smiled. "Seriously, in the attempts to make the sexes equal, I think your century has denied that there are differences between the male and female. It's utterly ridiculous how you try to be something you're not."

"Excuse me, but I have to be better then most of the men. That's just the way it is."

"So that you forget the merits of being a lady?" Holmes asked slowly.

"And what advantages are there to that?" she asked bitterly.

"I'm learning just as you are," Holmes confessed. "It is a mystery I have yet to solve."

"At least that makes two of us," Lestrade laughed sadly. She finally let the words come, spinning them into the recollection of what had transpired in the quarters. Holmes listened intently, and his mood grew darker with each passing sentence. Lestrade wondered if it was his concern as a lady being wronged, out of his Victorian sensibilities or if it was something more, concern for her as more than just a lady who needed protecting?

"So, correct me if I'm wrong," Holmes finally said when she had finished. "This Lernov… used you in the past… in a rather abusive fashion, and you still retain affection for him. Why is that?"

"I was in love," Lestrade admitted, wiping away her eyes. "Zed, it doesn't make sense. Love doesn't make sense, Holmes. I mean even though he was a zed head, he did want to save me."

"Which proves he knew in advance about this supposed attack," Holmes gritted bitterly. "Let me get this straight, Lestrade. He can slap cuffs on you, and wreak havoc with your emotions, and yet you still defend him. That ruffian is not worthy of your efforts."

"Sherlock," she got out, and he shivered at the use of his first name. "I don't know what to say."

"You do not need to be treated in such a horrendous fashion. And they say this is progress," Holmes snorted in anger. "I say it's even more barbaric then you claim my time is. A man wouldn't dream of treating the fair sex in that manner, whether he preferred the company of men to women or not. It simply is not the way that civilized people behave."

"I hate this!" Lestrade snorted, wiping her eyes. "I lost control, in front of you. It's my worst nightmare. You're seeing everything now. I guess I've just proved your notion about how I just fit the mold of some spineless, weak 19th century fainting girl."

"Poppycock," Holmes snorted. "If you are referring to my erstwhile commentary on the fair sex from Watson's Journals, you may remember that there were a few examples of women who were fine specimens, and not typical of their species. Worthy of revising my general opinion of ladies in general. You are my partner, and my friend and you happen to be of the fair sex. Isn't that worthy of your admiration?"

"I guess," she laughed.

"There's no comparison between 22nd century women and 19th, in your case, my dear Inspector Lestrade," he said calmly, his eyes returning to their usual gray blue, but still somber and serious. "And a man can make mistakes."

"So, you solved my mystery," Lestrade said softly.

"It makes sense, if that is what you mean," Holmes said as she turned away.

"You happy now? You were right," she grumbled.

"On the contrary it causes me discomfort to see you in such a state, and so wronged by this animal…" Holmes answered firmly. "And the next time our paths cross, I will be sorely tempted to challenge his treatment of you."

"As a gentleman," she nodded.

"Quite," he nodded; pleased she had the proper picture.

"Careful, Holmes, somebody might think you actually had feelings," she said with a lopsided grin. There was a bit of the old sparkle there, and Holmes was glad of it.

"Well, I won't tell if you won't," he smirked.

"Thank you," she said, leaning over and giving him a soft kiss on the cheek, even though she was afraid offend his Victorian sensibilities. He had given over to a bohemian side by hugging her, and that was enough to know he'd crossed a line in an effort to make her feel better. Pressing a hand to his cheek he felt his blood running warm with a considerable blush where her lips had touched his sensitive skin.

"I suggest you rest," he said softly. "You look as if you need a lie down. I am sure that the seat in back is most comfortable."

"What about you?" Lestrade asked.

"I shall be quite all right. I trust this ship's auto pilot is engaged, and is capable of landing us at our destination in Lowell City?" Holmes asked. He reverently got up, feeling shy as she regarded him.

"Yes," Lestrade nodded. She suddenly felt the need to maintain some distance, because she liked to believe that he really DID care for her more than just a gentleman who was coming to the rescue of a lady. Even if he didn't admit it, the look in his face had given her the answer she had wanted. The only answer she would get right now. She didn't want to ruin what could be the makings of something special.

"Also, does this communicator have a trans galatic link?" he asked. "I should like to speak with Watson."

"Yes, it does," she said. Holmes took her hand and led her to the back seat, which was comfortable enough to lie down on.

"Now, off to sleep with you," he said sternly, though his eyes twinkled. "I can't let my dear Inspector loose the efficiency of her eyes and brains can I?"

"No," Lestrade laughed with relief as the comfortable bantering set in again. It had survived the first real test, and she let Holmes hunt for a pillow and set it down for her. Grabbing the space blanket, he began to tie either end to separate the back part of the cabin from the front. It reminded her of a movie she'd seen years ago with Clarke Gable and Claudette Colbert from many years ago… It happened one night…"

"Hmm, only one or two blankets…" Holmes said as he took the second, and tucked it into the sofa as a sheet for her. "You should be comfortable enough in that."

"Holmes what are you doing?" she asked, feeling suddenly strange at his pampering her.

"Making you a proper bed of course… and arranging privacy," he said. "I don't presume to clap eyes on a lady as she retires for slumber. Goodness, what do you take me for?"

"That's sweet," she laughed as she sat down.

"I'll keep a watch here," he said, and took one of the remaining blankets and a pillow for himself. Thinking for a moment he passed his Inverness to her. "You might like this… it is not real wool, but it should be warmer than these flimsy pieces of tin foil…"

"Thanks," she said. "And… good night…"

"Good night," he smiled. She wasn't sure if she should hug him or not because they weren't excited and she was not crying anymore. The fact she'd been crying was probably why he had hugged her. Normally he wouldn't dream of touching a woman in such a familiar manner. But he had treated her as a colleague, and perhaps like a sister she dared think. So she backed away, and he took her hand and gave it an affectionate kiss. Feeling a hot flush she let him pull up the sheet, and give her the wall that they both needed for now.

Holmes settled down in the pilot's seat, and attempted to make himself comfortable with the pillow. Thankfully the seat reclined a bit, and he rested his head on the pillow, and pulled the other blanket over himself to think about what had just happened.

"Good heavens," he sighed. "God help me understand what I seem to be falling into."

He silently prayed he wasn't making a mistake. He heard the sounds of rustling from behind the makeshift wall, and soon heard the sound of someone lying down and the whisper of sheets being pulled up. Smiling to himself, he took out his flask and unscrewed the top. Sipping a bit of brandy, he relaxed himself and glanced out at the stars studding the view before him. Before long, he was fast asleep.


	9. Lowell City

**A Study in Solar**

_**Chapter 7**_

By Trynia Merin

* * *

Lestrade mumbled and curled up before she realized she wasn't on the narrow back seat of a shuttle, but was lying 9on a wider and much softer surface. She blinked twice and sat up in bed, realizing she was cocooned in a silver space blanket under the sheets and blankets. She at bold upright in the bed, rubbing her eyes and glancing around. "Zed," she mumbled, and realized it was a hotel room, with two doors leading out. A window looked out a few stories onto what appeared to be city spires. She saw her uniform and realized whoever had put her to bed had taken great pains to conceal her body in the space blanket. A pink light hit her eyes and she realized that the sky was that color.

"Zed, I'm on Mars... but the shuttle... how where?" she gasped.

Her hand brushed the pillow and felt an envelope. On it was written her name in cursive script, and she recognized the handwriting at once. With a wry smile she tore it open and read the note enclosed:

_My dear Lestrade,_

_Didn't want to wake you, but by the time you read this, you've awakened from what I hope was a restful repose. I managed to land the ship sufficiently, and took the liberty of procuring a hotel suite for the both of us. No one spotted us, and I have rounded up material for a disguise. I've also ordered breakfast, and should be back at half past ten, with the rest of your costume. Watson made reservations for the rest of the week. I apologize for the inconvenience but it seemed favorable. The hotel is the Lowell Hilton resort, and we are under the guise of newlyweds, a Mr. and Mrs. William Scott. I suggest that you put on the blonde wig, as the main room itself is under video surveillance for security purposes. _

_Yours sincerely_

_Holmes._

Lestrade glanced at the digital alarm clock. Her uniform lay neatly folded on the dresser, and she noticed the blonde wig along with a bathrobe and slippers. Fresh white towels were also neatly stacked with a ladies toiletry bag. She slipped the bathrobe on, and opened one of the doors, which was to the bathroom where a closet sonic shower awaited her. She set the pulse for deep massage, and set the oil cycle on high. While water showers were used on Earth, in the colonies the sonic showers predominated to conserve water, and worked just as well to keep a person clean. The oil pulsed into the skin and moisturized after the sonic shower had done its work.

After a half-hour, she was toweling herself off and brushing her hair when she heard the door to the main room open. "Are you awake?" came his voice, and she opened the door a crack. In the main room were an entertainment console, table with two chairs, and a sofa, along with a smaller double bed. Clothing was neatly folded, and she saw a gentleman with reddish hair and a moustache enter. She knew it was Holmes of course, but in one of his ingenious disguises. Taking the blonde wig, she tied up her own hair and slid it on overtop so it fitted well. An elastomask was attached, and altered her features to some degree, but she still looked similar.

"I got your note," she called out. "As usual you set off again without consulting me."

"I apologize. I thought it best not to wake you," he said as he put down the packages he was carrying.

"Well, just don't let it happen again," she laughed.

"I have purchased suitable attire," he said, setting the bundle down beside the door.

"So, I take it we weren't noticed at the space dock"

"Only by those I wished to see us," Holmes answered. She picked up the parcel and noticed it was from Wanamaker's, a rather exclusive woman's clothing boutique. Puzzled, she wondered just what outfit he thought was 'suitable.' Closing the door, she pulled the bundle in and opened it. An exclamation followed by a laugh exited her lips when she unfolded a floor length dress made of blue velveteen, and a pair of lace up mars striders, in black leather and laces. Matching blue stockings went with the ensemble with a full slip that had crinolines. So when the skirt was worn overtop the a-line and pleats rustled around for more volume. It was a more formal piece of attire, worn by most of the mars women colonists, because of their need to be covered in case of a dome breach. As she changed, she realized it showed the minimum amount of skin, namely her neck, face, and hands. A pair of leatherette gloves went with it, and she laced up the mars striders, feeling the weighted boots made walking in the lesser gravity easier. Wearing the wig, which was long and blonde, she styled it into a French twist, and nodded. Only her blue eyes and general facial shape were similar, and she realized for a second she looked rather like her younger sister.

"Nice," Lestrade nodded as she opened the door, and checked herself one last time before exiting. Holmes was setting the table with the contents of a room service cart, and he was wearing a forest green modern suit with a matching chocolate blazer. His own pair of mars striders came to his knees and the whole ensemble gave him a modern, yet distinguished air. The reddish hair was almost coppery, and still his eyes were the same gray. He looked strange with the false moustache, but it seemed to suit him strangely.

"What's all this?" she laughed as she strode in, and noticed his eyes travel over her dress with a twinkle of admiration. "You've been enjoying yourself way too much..."

"It was no party carrying you in here last night," Holmes shot back with a slight laugh.

"Oh come on in 0.75 gee?" she responded. "Not my fault you've gone soft after a 200 year nap!"

"Well, sleep perhaps hasn't agreed with you as much as I thought. Get up on the wrong side of bed?"

"When one side faces a window," she said. "You're lucky it didn't face a wall."

He pulled out a chair for her, and she folded the skirt under her to sit down. After he pushed her in, he sat down opposite and busied himself turning over the coffee cups and pouring milk from a small container into each cup. Lestrade noticed how the stream was longer and took more time to pour into the cup, followed by the steaming coffee. For himself he had eggs, English muffin smeared with jam, and sausage. Before her he set a plate of donuts, and she smiled.

"You messed up the coffee again," she pointed out.

"I cannot change the habit of a lifetime," he insisted. "And after all the trouble I went to as to procure breakfast."

"Yeah, yeah," she snickered, picking up her cup of coffee and sipping the hot brew. Her eyes fell on the donuts and she realized they were chocolate covered. Breaking one open she saw the cream filling, and nibbled them slowly.

"You'll have to tolerate my preference if you want me to persist in fetching for you," he smirked.

"Those fish I bet they can smell in the next room," she pointed to his kippers. He smirked when cream dribbled down her chin, and tossed her a napkin.

"Can't go damaging that lovely dress," he scolded good-naturedly. "After the number of stores I passed through... and I must say it complements your appearance nicely."

"If that's your way of complementing me, thanks," Lestrade blushed. She spread the napkin on her lap, and devoured the donuts. As he moved, she noticed his collar sticking out, and realized he must have put the ultramodern one-piece suit on over his regular clothes. As they munched their food, she said, "So, we're on Mars, posing as newlyweds... what's your master plan that you conveniently FORGOT to fill me in on?"

"Wouldn't it seem logical to mill about and secure more information regarding the rhea station disaster?" he raised an eyebrow and washed more muffins down with coffee. "By hiding amidst the tourists as to not arouse suspicion. Whoever attacked us will doubtless wonder if we escaped if Holmes and Lestrade were to put in an appearance."

"Fascinating," she said dryly, putting on the appropriate serious face.

"If that is another pop culture reference, the significant escapes me," he rolled his eyes.

"Zed, I forget sometimes that your education didn't include 20th century SF references," she chuckled.

"I must conclude that you are a fanatic of that era?" he winked.

"Like you avoided classical literature in your day, so did I..." Lestrade nodded. "Again I have the inside track."

"As usual you delight in keeping me surprised," he shook his head, spreading strawberry preserves over another muffin.

"A great detective needs to observe," she teased, and he saw her grin.

"Part and parcel no doubt of your 'bookworm' persona..." Holmes jested. "This proves that we share a rather alarming similarity."

"That's right my dear Holmes," she snickered, almost dribbling coffee down her new dress. Some coffee slid down the wrong pipe and she broke into a coughing fit. Holmes slugged her on the back.

"Are you all right, Inspector?" he asked. No doubt there was only video surveillance, not sound. Concern was apparent in his blue eyes.

"If I drop dead from your sparkling wit, I'll charge my funeral to your estate and you can bring me back to life," she coughed.

"Touché," he laughed. Lestrade looked again at the donuts, and sighed. Holmes who was always observing her behavior lifted an eyebrow in question.

"Its' the donuts," she said softly.

"They are not to your liking?" he asked.

"They're the same kind that Lernov used to bring me... in bed," she muttered. "Did you do this on purpose?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he said innocently enough. "After all I thought they were your favorite?"

"Don't get cute. Come on, don't you think it's more than a coincidence that I happened to mention I liked them, when Lernov and I were talking... and you must have overheard," she said, voice rising in agitation. Emotions that were long held in check were again bursting to the surface, and she felt her control eroding again. Suspicion that he was bugging her deliberately, or bating her arose, and anger burned in her stomach.

"Your reaction to the crème donuts suggests uncomfortable familiarity then?" he said.

"You're messing with me, aren't you?" she said bitterly.

"I must know more about the nature of your past relationship," he said slowly. "Because it may have bearing on the case."

"As a colleague or a friend?" she choked.

"As both. As a colleague because your emotions may cloud your objectivity and as your friend, seeing the emotional distress it causes you engenders considerable concern in me..." Holmes said as he put down his coffee cup. "And suggest a reason for your hesitation... being your devotion to work resembling mine... as to why you do not court."

"Zed, I knew this would come up again," she cursed, glancing quickly away.

"You know my past, I simply wish to determine."

"You are really something, Sherlock Holmes," she got out, putting up her wall.

"Lestrade, if it causes you distress, we can discuss it later," he sighed.

"Zed... I can't," she choked again, feeling her chin wobbling as tears burned her eyes. He blurred before her vision, and she hid her face in her hands. "I can't talk about this now!"

Holmes rose from the table, and she rushed out of the room, not wanting him to see her crying. The door slammed almost in his face as he called her name. He sighed deeply, chiding himself for being so insensitive. Inside the bedroom Lestrade tore off her mask and wig, and sat on the bed, face in her hands. She knew he cared for her, which was obvious. The fact that the great detective had come to include her in any manner in his inner circle meant far more than she had ever hoped. All she could do was to put her face in her hands and sob. Lying on the bed she curled up, and buried her face in the pillow, letting her cries be muffled.

"Damn you Holmes, for what you've made me feel," she sobbed.

A knock sounded at the door, and she heard him say, "Lestrade... please, open the door... we have to talk."

"Go away, you've said enough!" she bit back.

"Lestrade, please... I implore you... it was not my intention to cause you this much distress," came Holmes' voice, a note of deep concern apparent.

"Well you sure could have fooled me!" she shouted. "Just go away dammit!"

"Lestrade please," he tried again. "Its rather difficult to talk to you with this door in the way. I apologize for blundering into something that is of a highly personal and disturbing nature. But don't you realize that if you don't face this problem, it will only continue to fester till it gets worse."

"Why should I tell you anything?" she cried.

"Because I am concerned about you," he said hesitatingly.

"So concerned you'd make me cry twice in 24 hours?" she asked bitterly. "Does it make you happy to see a tough as nails inspector turn into a bawling baby... just so you can see she's a woman like those 19th century pushovers?"

"Lestrade that is NOT how I regard you at all. That's a most UNFAIR assessment," Holmes said hotly.

"Zed... I can't deal with this," she got out. Holmes quickly opened the door, and stood there. She lay on the bed; her back turned to him, and heard his footsteps as he closed the door behind him. There was the sound of something tearing, and she felt the weight of his body shifting the bed as he sat down on the edge. At the touch of his hand on her shoulder she flinched.

"Lestrade," he said softly, stroking her back. "This cannot go on."

"Please don't ask me," she sobbed. Holmes put both hands on her shoulder, and gently rubbed her back with soothing strokes. She heard him sigh, and Holmes realized he felt helpless for the second time in two days, unable to know what to say to her. All the clues were telling him a disturbing story, and he shuddered to think what must have caused her to bottle up so much pain.

"Obviously it is a highly personal nature," he said quietly. "I feared this would happen. That in revealing it you would resent my intrusion. I didn't realize how grave the matter was..."

He tried to turn her over, but she didn't want him to see her crying. Instead she lay there, breath heaving in and out as Holmes' sensitive fingers brushed her hair away from her face, and he lay alongside her, putting his arm over her body to pull her close to him. It caused her to come undone even more, and she finally turned over to bury her head in his chest. Holmes raised her to a sitting position, and took her in his arms.

"Lestrade, please look at me," he urged, stroking her shoulders and fingering her hair. "It's rather hard to converse with your back."

She snorted halfway and sobbed, and she looked up into his face, tears fat and heavy upon her cheeks. He presented her his handkerchief, and she clutched it. His hands rested on her shoulders, and he tucked her strands of hair behind her ear. He had removed the elastomask so his familiar features were visible, and she wondered if that was deliberate, to show her that he was just as willing to open himself partway as he had forced her to. The top of the costume was unzipped and hung around his waist to reveal his customary vest, tie and shirt.

"This is not me... crying like a baby."

"It is most definitely not the Lestrade I know," he nodded. "And that also is disturbing. This Lernov is very much an unresolved issue, and if left so, the root cause will only cause you more pain."

"I hate it when you're right," she mumbled, laying her head on his shoulder as she slid her arms around his waist, and Holmes again embraced her, a bit more gently this time. He did not flinch or pull away as he had sometimes done in the past. His heart thumped under her ear, and she realized how good it felt to be held, simply held by someone.

"Do you wish for me to deduce, if that would ease your story?" he asked softly, lips close to her ear.

"Fire away," Lestrade sighed, gripping his shoulders as if she were using him as an anchor to reality.

"Well I can immediately deduce that his mere presence evokes conflicting emotions, suggesting a rather intimate involvement... and may I be so bold as to ascertain it was your first and only such relationship?"

"Yeah, you're right," she mumbled, blushing.

"And I am also to deduct that he had a rather charismatic and dominant personality to which you were drawn like a moth to a flame... and in so doing caused your emotional dependence upon him."

"That's it. And I bet you wondered how an inspector like me got involved with a jerk like him," she answered.

"That question had crossed my mind," Holmes admitted. "Considering the Lestrade I know."

"He wasn't like any other man I knew at the time," she sighed. "Two years ago we broke up... we met in college. He was a year ahead of me, and was the guy every girl wanted to be with."

"How did you first become involved?"

"A blind date," said Beth with a bitten laugh. "My buddies put me up to it. They figured poor bookworm Lestrade needed to get her nose out of the screen and get a life. So when the Sadie Hawkins dance came up, they fixed me up with a date, and I was just dreading it. Come the time of the dance, they had helped me pick out a dress, and dragged me almost kicking and screaming to the club. Sergey showed up dressed like a fashion plate out of GQ, and brought roses and chocolates. He knew all the right things to say, he didn't use cheap pick up lines, and we just talked."

"Obviously a seasoned courtier," said Holmes with a hint of jealousy, or so Lestrade thought.

"That whole night was like a fairy tale," Lestrade laughed bitterly. "He took me home in a hover limo, and we stayed out till six in the morning... just talking. Of course my father gave me nine shades of holy hell, but after he met Sergey, who apologized profusely, he warmed up to us being a couple."

"Ah," Holmes nodded. "Continue."

"We would meet at the library. He was a poly sci and criminal justice major, like I was, except I minored in forensics... he helped me with my homework, and he always seemed to know how to make me feel... special. Sometimes when it was late, I'd stay at his dorm room, and sleep over. Eventually he told me he was going to be a cop in New Scotland Yard, and thought I'd like to join him after he graduated."

"Was he what convinced you to adopt your current line of work?" Holmes asked.

"He taught me how to use an ionizer, and how to enter the social circles. He took me to parties... he was always a good schmoozer with that Russian accent and his debonair ways. His parents had a lot of money... they had emigrated to New London from New Moscow and were big wheels in imports... and space shipping..."

"Interesting," Holmes said, filing that detail away in his vast attic storehouse.

"So when he graduated, he got a small apartment, and invited me to move in with him for his senior year. My parents weren't too crazy about me living with a man I wasn't engaged to, but he promised he'd ask me after I graduated college. I was young and stupid... so I moved in with him. He got into the academy, and we lived together for at least two years. All the time my friends and I would meet for ladies night out, and he'd be okay with it at first. But then things started to change... when I graduated... and got accepted to the academy."

"How did they change?" Holmes asked slowly, stroking her back. "Precisely?"

"Well for starters, he started coming home later and later after classes. He'd say he was out with his buddies. We would go out as a couple, but he started insisting on answering the videophone, saying I had to get my rest. And when my parents called, he'd tell them I was busy, and not tell me that they called. Then he'd complain that I was out too often with my friends, and ask where I went. Sometimes I caught him following me."

"Good lord," Holmes sighed.

"Then we started arguing a lot. I said if he went out till all hours, I could to, and he gave me some line about a woman needing to be kept in line... that there were bad men out there who would just snap up a pretty thing like me, and that he had to protect me."

"Really?" Holmes smirked. "As if you required protection."

"Really," Lestrade sniffled, wiping at her eyes again with his handkerchief. "And sometimes he would get mad at the stupidest things, like if I forgot to do my share of the chores. He started throwing things, and sometimes they would head right in my direction, but just miss..."

"Did he ever...hit you?" Holmes asked slowly.

"Only once... and that was enough," she said softly. "It was the night when he had said he was quitting Scotland Yard and was joining the space marines. He said he'd worked out a plan where I could come with him and we'd get married and move to Mars. I said that I wanted to stay and finish my coursework, and that it was unfair of him not to tell me sooner. He got angry and said that HE made the decisions for us, because he knew me better. I told him that I didn't want to leave New London and be away from my friends. He started to yell at me, and I yelled back. The dishes almost hit my head. Then his punch landed RIGHT by my shoulder in the wall."

"My god," Holmes gasped.

"Then I felt him slap my face, and I landed on the floor, stunned. He said that I was a bad girl and that if I loved him that I would come with him," she said softly, not looking Holmes in the face. She was so unlike the Lestrade he knew. "I ran out of the apartment, and went home for the night. I didn't tell my parents. Then he called a few hours later, crying his eyes out and saying he was sorry. He showed up in his hover car and brought me flowers and chocolates, saying he wouldn't let it happen again. And me like a dummy believed him..."

"You went back?"

"Yes. He said he was leaving in a week for basic training. He even got me a ring. But I realized that would take me away from my family. So when he decided to leave, I never showed up on the transport. And he left without me..."

"I'm glad you didn't go," Holmes said, his eyes dark with anger. "That misbegotten excuse for a man had no right to treat a lady in such a manner. Honestly, I don't think that society has progressed in so called equality of the sexes if men can get away with treating the fair sex in such a beastly fashion!"

"So that's why I swore off men. I said I'd never let myself get close to anyone in that way again, because they would leave me... they would hurt me. So I learned to be strong," Lestrade said softly. "I guess that's why I never was much for dating..."

"I cannot say I blame you, hearing this sad tale," Holmes sympathized. "I am truly regretful for your situation, and I wish you had entrusted me with this information before."

"I thought you'd think less of me," she admitted.

"Watson has imparted many secrets to me over the years," Holmes said.

"You don't go telling everyone your darkest secrets," she pointed out.

"Perhaps not," Holmes said, looking guilty as he stared past her. "But I do value my relationships. And my friendships are highly important. And since you are one of my friends, I cannot help but wish to assist you in any way I can."

"Thanks Sherlock, you have no idea how much that means to me," she said, wiping at her eyes. He raised an eyebrow at the use of his more private name. Lestrade leaned over and gave him a soft but quick kiss on the cheek.

"I am at your service, Beth," he said softly, giving her a firm squeeze as he hugged her tightly. She simply rested her head on his shoulder, tears in her eyes as they sat on the bed, and she drew strength from their embrace. Never in a million years would she have thought the great detective would have done something like this.

"Don't think you have to protect me," she whispered.

"Rubbish! I will endeavor to protect you in any means necessary," Holmes said firmly. "Does this animal know baristu and is he a first in his class boxing champion?"

"He does know karate, and kick boxing," she said slowly. "And he is a jealous guy."

"Rather presumptuous of him to claim something that has never rightfully been his for the past few years," Holmes snorted indignantly. "The absolute NERVE of him!"

She smiled at his possessiveness, wondering if he regarded her with greater intimacy then just a friend. She pulled back and regarded him with a watery-eyed smile. Holmes took her hand and kissed it softly, making her blush.

"Shall we go out as Mr. and Mrs. William Scott and close the snare on this blackguard?" Holmes suggested. "I think the hunt will do us both good... for the game is very much afoot."

"Let's go hunt this… jerk," she said, not wanting to use course language around him, and it struck her as odd.

"One more detail," Holmes said as he handed her elastomask back to her. Reaching in the breast pocket of his coat, he pulled out a small gold ring. "If we are to pose as newlyweds, you must have a suitable wedding ring... this should suffice."

She held out her hand with a sad smile as he slid the ring on her finger. This was probably the closest she'd ever get to being married. Too bad it wasn't for real. Holmes gave her a cheerful smile as he stroked her hair, and kept his arm around her. She said nothing, simply smiling and letting the new feeling pass between them. It was good to be cared for in such a manner, and right now that was what she needed, just to know a man cared of her as a friend, even though she desired far more. For once his Victorian sensibilities were refreshing, and she laughed at the thought.


	10. Sabatoge

**A Study In Solar**

_**Chapter 8**_

By Trynia Merin

* * *

"The phone," Lestrade said as the trilling interrupted the moment, and she was both glad and sad for its presence.

"Impeccable timing," Holmes sighed. "Excuse me… we shall have to continue later."

"It figures," she sighed.

"Holmes, are you there?" asked Watson's voice when Holmes got up and pressed the receive button.

"My dear Watson, how goes things on your end?" Holmes asked casually.

"What's going on, Watson?" Lestrade asked, getting up and standing to peer annoyed over Holmes shoulder at Watson.

"I found a possible additional connection, through the help of the Irregulars… particularly Tennyson, whose research was most valuable," Watson announced. "When he scanned the records he managed to decrypt, we found that several employees have now quit Nusolar, and have walked away with considerable sums of money."

"Who are they?" asked Lestrade eagerly.

"Only one of them had previously worked at Solarex," said Watson. "I thought that may well be significant…"

"Would his name be Rossini?" asked Holmes.

"How did you know… bless my soul," Watson said in surprise. "Well, it seems that he had classified information, which took Tennyson's considerable skill to decode… the man's been leading a double life. He tended to do most of his work at home… and during that time he was actually moonlighting as a Commander in the Space corps… particularly the Martian Marines…"

"How could he get away with that?" Lestrade asked.

"Interesting," Holmes said. "No doubt he had forged identity papers."

"The record of his service does not go back further then being an ensign. Apparently he took a few years off on hiatus. He was a service tech in power stations. That was his military training. Then five years ago, he left on a leave of absence according to the records, and took a civilian identity on Earth."

"Working for Solarex no doubt," said Holmes.

"Right… and only after a year he left there… and resumed his active duty. Then he apparently hired his skills as a consultant for Nusolar just last year… but the employee records show him as still active at Solarex, even though he wasn't officially on site… Tennyson says the records have all the earmarks of forgery."

"Somebody went to a lot of trouble to cover up a nasty mess," Holmes muttered, fingering his chin. "Any information on Lernov?"

"Apparently he worked as an assistant to Commander Rosschild, when they were both at Rhea base. Lernov's been serving there ever since."

"There is our first connection," Holmes said with a severe nod. "Any hint Rossini's whereabouts now?"

"Company records say he's on holiday," Watson said. "And that he gave his notice to leave."

"Which coincides with the reports of Rosschild's presence on the Rhea base," Holmes nodded.

"So if we find those two, we figure out who set the attacks?" Lestrade asked.

"Not quite, my dear Inspector," Holmes corrected her. "There is one more link. Neither Rosschild nor Lernov were on the station to boobytrap the Wallace. This means there was someone else on the station responsible. Who is the third collaborator?"

"I'm on my way to meet both of you," said Watson. "I had a feeling that you may need my aid."

"Good man Watson," said Holmes with a nod. "Have the irregulars keep eyes and brains attuned for any changes at Nusolar. And tell Tennyson to keep monitoring their files especially their personnel records about who has visited in the past week."

"Right," Watson said. "I'm already on the next transport en route. I should be there by tonight."

"Excellent."

"But Holmes what would they gain by crashing the Wallace?" asked Lestrade. "Since it was using Solarex sails or were they trying to keep us from snooping around here?"

"Excellent Lestrade, but not the only reason," Holmes said. "Whoever did the sabotage wanted to absolve Nusolar of some of the blame. And provide a way to transfer the cargo the Wallace was carrying… namely tobacco."

"Tobacco?" Watson shook his head. "My word… I never… funny you should mention that… I didn't know it was related but when I scanned the warehouses and labs the other day at Nusolar, I found traces of nicotine."

"Brilliant!" Holmes said with a laugh of glee. "You have been most helpful!"

"I shall see you this evening!" Watson said. Lestrade drew in her breath and let out a sigh.

"Shall we go for some fresh air, and put our disguises to the test?" Holmes asked Lestrade.

"Okay, better than hanging out here," she sighed as Holmes handed her the elastomask, and slipped his outfit on again.

"It should be most illuminating," he winked as he offered her his arm, and they walked out of the bedroom, in their disguises.

"So now what?" Lestrade asked as they exited their room, disguises in place. She figured Holmes might mean the case, but the strange look in his eyes suggested he read another implication that made her shiver. Putting that thought away, she let him take her arm and lead her down to the lobby.

"We go for a stroll," he smiled.

"And hope we don't run into any ex boyfriends," Lestrade added. "With nasty tempers."

"Indeed," Holmes nodded.

"Don't worry I've got enough anger to kick anyone's tail halfway across Mars if they mess with me," Lestrade said bravely, and Holmes smiled to see a hint of the old Lestrade he knew and was fond of. Make that quite fond of.

She wrapped a scarf around her head to hide her face a bit, and they both put on stylish sunglasses. While people had not worn glasses for years to correct sight, they still donned sunshades to shield their eyes from UV rays, or to make a fashion statement. Out of the lobby they strolled, down the streets which were lined with shops, and chatting knots of guests and citizens. Lowell City had 25,000 inhabitants, most of which were colonists who worked in the local industries and at the resort, much like Galileo City on the Moon. Most of the larger cities, like Sagan City, Vikingsburg, and Schaparielliville were the same size. Smaller settlements had 10,000 people or less, and there were perhaps twenty such settlements on Mars so far. Mars was not as well developed as other colonies, but there were successful terraforming experiments that happened in a huge complex of domes that ringed the planet at the equator. They were all interconnected underground, and each consisted of a series of domes linked to the agriculture fields by transparent 'gerbil tubes'.

* * *

Once they reached the shopping plaza, they encountered quite a number of Space Marines in fatigues, milling about or having coffee. Some wandered in and out of the video arcades and various bars, clearly the group from Rhea base, which had supposedly been under, attack by ersatz dissidents. Only the dome overhead separated them from the rosy Martian sky and rust colored plains. Lestrade anxiously glanced from left to right; anxious to catch a glimpse of who all was present. The blond wig concealed her hair well enough, but she was sure if Lernov happened upon them, he might see through the disguise. Such was the fear he evoked in her.

"Isn't it a lovely day?" she asked in a credible English accent that Holmes had coached her on.

"Very much so, dear," Holmes answered in an American accent. "Something wrong?"

"Frightful lot of soldiers milling about," she mumbled. "There been a war?"

"Got that right miss," said a familiar voice. They turned to see Alvarez and Chang sitting at a sidewalk cafe, and waving to them. He had heard her last comment.

Holmes and Lestrade turned to see the two soldiers sitting at the table. Lestrade said, "Um… excuse me?"

"You're right lady. It was a pretty bad scene," said the Asian. "By the way, you must be tourists."

"Ah, how can you tell?" Holmes asked, recognizing Private Alvarez and Corporal Chang.

"Your styles are kinda retro," said Chang. "Although you'd be mod on Earth in the US now… We've been here since yesterday, and we've been hanging out, watching who's been coming and going."

"Do you make a habit of watching tourists?" asked Holmes a bit piqued.

"Hey, easy," said Chang. "We're just playing. I know most of the colonists here, because I'm the one who goes on supply runs. We usually get to know most of the inhabitants."

"Oh… all right," Holmes said. "Right."

"I'm Private Alvarez, and my buddy is Corporal Chang," said Alvarez. "You two look like you just got married?"

"You've got the blush," said Chang with a wink at Holmes. "We can spot you young couples from a mile off."

"Seems as if we have been found out," said Holmes with amusement. "I'm Mr. William Scott, and this is my wife Caroline... we're staying at the Hilton."

"Hi," she said. "Pleased to meat you."

"You wanna join us for coffee?" asked Alvarez. "I mean, we could tell you the whole story, if you wanna know."

"Very well," Holmes said. "Shall we, dear?"

He pulled out a chair for Lestrade, and she sat down, glancing at him in question. Chang flagged down a waiter and smiled as he said, "Get whatever these two want."

"Two coffees please," Holmes said. "Double sweet."

"Another round of whisky and soda for us," said Alvarez. The waiter nodded and moved off to get their drinks. Lestrade picked up a few peanuts and nibbled them nervously as Holmes smiled disarmingly at their hosts.

"I heard the dissidents were extremely bad," said Holmes.

"You said it," Alvarez nodded.

"So that's why all of you are here?" asked Lestrade.

"Yep miss; we can't go back till the base has been investigated. But hell, at least we got R and R," laughed Chang.

"We came last night," said Holmes.

"Last night was our first night," Lestrade said, with a wink, and Holmes blushed even though it was an act.

"What's with the shades?" Chang asked them.

"You dope they're earthers. Another sign of tourists. People not from Mars don't get used to the extra UV."

"Why doesn't the dome protect us?" asked Lestrade.

"The cheapskates who run this berg insist on not using a special screen... cause they don't want the crops to wither," said Chang with a laugh. Beth glanced around, and kept hold of Holmes hand. As the waiter brought their drinks, she scanned for any sign of anyone else from the base. They sipped their drinks and Chang entertained them with tales of the desperate battle.

"We're all here till they call us back, so we're making the most of it," Chang said, knocking back a sip of his drink.

"I'm surprised you're being so up front with telling us all this," said Lestrade, shaking her head. "I mean isn't it usually a policy to keep military operations secret?"

"It helps the PR," said Chang. "We wanna discourage colonists from thinking we're doing some weird experiments or weapons testing. That's why the dissidents are so ticked off at us. They think we're gonna detonate distronic explosives or something."

"Whether we wanna or not, we have to be honest," said Alvarez, rolling his eyes.

"So, you played the slots?" asked Chang.

"Pardon?" Holmes asked.

"Oh come on, you got to put a credit or two in the machine," Alvarez groaned.

"We have been rather… busy," Lestrade said with a wink.

"I bet," Chang nudged Holmes, who grumbled. "Say no more… say no more."

"Mind if we light up?" asked Alvarez, taking out a pack of smokes, Leanovs. Holmes glanced at the package, noting it was the same brand as before.

"I thought it was illegal!" Lestrade said with a mock shock.

"Not in the cafés," said Chang with a whisper. "Thanks to our PR officer, we've convinced the governor it's not so bad business to have this be a tobacco zone. I mean it does draw the tourists, and in space casinos they've been letting people use the tobacco. Provided they keep it in the plazas…"

"PR's in good with the governor?" Holmes raised an eyebrow.

"Yep that's our buddy now," waved Chang as he shouted. "Sir."

"At ease, Corporal, we are off duty, ne takl li?" said a Russian voice that made Lestrade freeze. Holmes grasped her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Out of the crowd strode Lernov, wearing his fatigues like the others, and both men stood up to salute him.

"Get the man a chair," said Alvarez, leaping out of his as Chang did the same, indicating he should sit.

"Ah, who are your friends?" he asked, his eyes examining Holmes and Lestrade in their guises. She froze, as if expecting his vision to x-ray right through and find them out.

"Mr. and Mrs. William Scott," Holmes said quickly, holding out his hand as Sergey sat down in the chair vacated by Alvarez.

"A pleasure," Lernov smiled his perfect white teeth. He turned to Lestrade, and picked up her hand to give it a kiss. "And likewise a double pleasure to see your lovely wife…"

Lestrade had taken off her gloves, and he saw the single gold band gleaming on the third finger of her left hand. She smiled as bravely as she could, and forced a coquettish giggle as she pulled her scarf around her neck. Sergey flashed her a charming smile that made her stomach crawl, and Holmes arm drape around her shoulders possessively as if demarcating his territory.

"You are... the PR officer?" asked Holmes. Alvarez stood beside Chang, sipping his drink while Chang sat in his chair.

"That I am," he smiled. "If you two have any questions about the base, do not hesitate to ask. We hope to get to the bottom of this nasty business, and bring those dissidents the justice they deserve."

"Yes, indeed," said Holmes.

"Oh you're so brave," cooed Lestrade, though she felt nauseous doing so. "Protecting us."

"Do you know a Commander Rosschild?" asked Holmes suddenly, arm snug around her shoulders. "I met him once back on Earth… during a review… at Schwarzkopf base."

"Ah," said Sergey. "Him? He only commandeered the rescue of the civilians from the base, and then had to report back to HQ… he had only just come back from a tour of duty on Earth…"

"But we heard something about a solar yacht crashing," Lestrade said. The three men exchanged looks before Chang jumped in.

"Beats me. All those ritzy yachts have some problem or another," shrugged Chang.

"Server them right," muttered Alvarez. "A toy for the rich."

"Now those techs did help us repair our power station," said Sergey. "They're only now helping wrap up the investigation while we stay here, and make sure the citizens are safe."

"Do you have any more of those… cigarettes?" Holmes asked quietly.

"Dear… it's our honeymoon!" cried Lestrade, adding a hint of caution.

"Allow me," Sergey said as he flipped open a pack he pulled from the breast pocket of his uniform. Holmes reached in and extracted one, and Sergey flicked a lighter to let him ignite it. He took in a long drag, and then coughed spasmodically.

"Strong for a strong man," Sergey laughed as he slapped Holmes on the back.

"Dear… you shouldn't," said Lestrade, sighing.

"You are a lucky man, with such a lovely wife to worry over you," said Sergey.

"Yeah right," Lestrade said in her mind. Sergey turned his gaze to her, and she was sure he must know who she was. It was part of the fear he had instilled in her that there was nowhere she was safe from his manipulations.

"You are an intriguing man, Lieutenant," she managed to say; giggling again though it made her ill.

"A pleasure indeed sharing your lovely wife's company," Sergey flashed a grin at Holmes who nodded and puffed timidly on the smoke. He let his jealousy show and Lestrade for a moment figured that it wasn't an act. She was glad for that, because it suppressed the urge for her to either kick Sergey's brains in or run away in the opposite direction.

"Oh Private Alvarez, you don't have to stand," she said suddenly as an idea hit her.

"Hey it's part of my job," he grinned.

"We can't have a brave soldier like you stand up… here take my chair… because I'll sit here…" she said, moving over and planting herself on Holmes' lap much to his surprise.

"Dear," he stammered, flushing as she shifted.

"That works for me," Private Alvarez grinned as he took her chair, and winked at Holmes who was very embarrassed at this turn of events.

"Young love," Chang bopped his arm, and Holmes glared at him. He swallowed hard as Lestrade gave his cheek a kiss.

"Get a room," Alvarez laughed.

"Perhaps we should return to the hotel and continue this?" Holmes said pointedly to Lestrade.

"Yes, let's," she nodded. "Excuse us… please."

"Go on, with my blessings," Sergey flashed them another grin, though she could swear she saw a questioning gleam in his eyes. She leapt off Holmes' lap, and grabbed his hand, pulling him away with her. He stumbled away and tossed a shrug to the men who waved and grinned.

The Scotts left the company of the marines and strolled out in the main road. They crossed the city in a matter of a half hour, and Lestrade saw they were headed in the direction o the power station instead of the hotel. She still kept a firm grip on his arm as if struggling to keep hold of her own emotions. His sidelong glances at hr confirmed his apprehension about her state of mind. Again anger surfaced and he felt the tug as she fell behind his stride.

"That was rather… hem… an interesting twist you showed back there," he said neutrally.

"I just have a bad feeling he saw right through the elastomask. He isn't stupid."

"Quite," Holmes nodded. "Which is why you showed a stroke of genius by the suggestion that we were retiring to the hotel… where doubtless if we are under surveillance would be the first place they would look?"

"Well it just came to me," she shrugged with a grin.

"Although the public displays of affection were rather unexpected," he admitted.

"Zed, sorry, I got carried away! Should have KNOWN giving you a kiss in public would rile you up, in your Victorian prudery. Seriously, you got to get with the program. A married couple now isn't so reserved!"

"I am just not accustomed to it, that is all," he coughed.

"I didn't think that I was that offensive," she grumbled.

"Lestrade, actually you weren't," Holmes said. "Rather I enjoyed it… and it was disturbing."

"Excuse me?" Lestrade snapped. "Now just a minute, playing those parts was your bright idea!"

"Please, keep your voice down," he hissed as they approached the power station, its gleaming generators and transformers rising against the rear of the dome, where a small building served as a control station. A shadow moved, and Holmes voice trailed off.

"Oh good grief," Lestrade sighed, as he held up a hand for silence. He pulled her behind the building, and glanced around. Frustrated, Lestrade realized fate had interrupted a promising and interesting conversation.

"Someone's walking this way, and I've seen them for the past half hour," Holmes whispered. "I saw him leaving the marketplace."

"Who's that?" she asked, glancing around the corner herself as the figure came towards them. His Mars striders made a thudding sound on the pavement, and she saw the unmistakable uniform of a space corps marine commander. Except Holmes narrowed his eyes and shook his head. They were at the periphery where the solar energy collected from the plane of solar panels was siphoned off by the converter and stored in the huge solar stacks for use in the city, and converted to the necessary power levels for each building. The curve of the dome sloped gently down overhead, and beyond Lestrade saw the channels that carried the cables out to the field of solar panels on the other side. An emergency air lock door was set into the side of the dome; its double doors locked shut, with several auxiliary masks and a tank of oxygen handy.

"One may ask what business a military man has in a civilian power station," Holmes mumbled in her ear. "Especially when his hair is not kept to regulation length."

"Zed," she whispered. He had stopped before the main power converter, rising to a height of ten feet overhead. He removed his hat and wiped sweat off his head, and they saw the hair was longer then the buzz cut of the space marines, with residual patches of green and yellow.

"That's Commander Rosschild… or should I say, Dr. Rossini of Nusolar?" asked Holmes. "Shall we take a closer look?"

"I'm with you," she mumbled, hitching up her skirt and drawing her ionizer, which was concealed there. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Holmes pulled out his cane and opened it to its full length. Determination to get to the bottom of the case shone in their eyes and as they rushed over to evade their quarry's glances, she felt Sherlock take her hand and pull her close beside him into the shelter of the power converter's cylindrical bulk. She shivered at this more friendly gesture as Holmes tossed his head in the direction of the man on the other side. He had opened his briefcase and started to fix something to the side of the wall, pressing some buttons with a gleam in his eyes.

"He has an electronic jammer," she pointed to a device clipped to Rosschild's belt as he knelt and made more adjustments to whatever he was doing. A small box blinked on his belt, and Holmes realized that must be what was keeping all the security from rushing over to see what was going on.

"I think we have found our perpetrator," he nodded. "For the so called attacks by dissidents…"

"We gotta stop him," she hissed.

"With the utmost caution. On three," Holmes whispered. Lestrade nodded, and they moved out from their hiding place.

"Freeze, new Scotland Yard!" Lestrade shouted. Glancing up, Rossini shook his head as he saw Lestrade covering him with a gun. He did not recognize the blonde in the long blue skirt, but she held her badge up in her other hand so he could see. "You're under arrest! Step AWAY from the power station."

"You're too late, Yardie," he snarled.

"What is that?" she demanded.

"Something you'll not be here to find out," he said as he slowly backed away. Lestrade saw the flashing lights and saw a sonic bomb affixed to the side of the capacitor, with only minutes on his timer.

AS he turned to leave, something caught him around the neck, and dealt him a swift blow to the back of the head. Rossini collapsed and hit the ground. Lestrade rushed up and rolled him onto his back, snapping cuffs around his wrists.

"That was easy," she said.

"Too easy," she mumbled. "That's a sonic bomb… and we have to get it out of here."

"I wonder if I can stop it," Holmes said as he moved over and glanced over the device.

"No time!" Lestrade pushed him away. She had an oxygen mask over her mouth, with the accompanying tank.

"What are you doing?" he asked as she tore it off the wall, and ran with it towards the airlock door. "Wait… Lestrade!"

"Wait here!" she shouted as she punched the panel and the door slid open. She rushed inside, and the door slid shut as Holmes rushed after her. He banged on the airlock door as Lestrade opened the outer door to the surface of mars, handing onto the edge of the frame as the air whooshed out. She tossed the bomb as far as she could, and slammed the door.

Holmes struggled to open the airlock, when he saw Lestrade's panicked face. The mechanism was jammed, and Sherlock saw the words Manual at the archaic wheel to one side. He shoved up the pressurizer to pump air in, and heard the hissing, as there came a blinding flash and a terrific shaking of the ground. Everything was supernova white and faded into blackness as he fell to the ground.

The next thing Holmes heard were voices around him. He thought it must be midnight, and the power was off, for he saw blackness. He felt Lestrade's body pushing him up and steadying him as he heard someone say, "Inspector Lestrade? What just happened?"

"Ah, inspector Thomas," Lestrade said. "That's the reason behind the attacks. It isn't dissidents… just one dissident."

"That man…" Holmes mumbled. "He's behind it all."

"Well well, a commander?" asked the voice of Thomas. "What will they think of next?"

"He's no commander," said Lestrade. "Any more than I'm Mrs. William Scott."

"They'll never believe this at the HQ," said Thomas, shaking his head. "Take him away men. And you two look like you'd better be seen to. There will have to be a full report of course to my chief."

"Quite," Holmes mumbled.

"Just who are you anyway?"

"Sherlock Holmes," he said, as Lestrade kept him from falling over. "And is the power still on?"

"Yes, why do you ask?" said Thomas as he shook Holmes hand.

"Because… I am quite blind," Holmes said calmly, though Lestrade's eyes widened in shock.

* * *

. 


	11. Lestrade Captured

**A Study In Solar**

_**Chapter 9**_

_**Edited for grammar and content**_

_Because of all the typos in the original I've reposted an edited version without all the typing mistakes. The extra chapter is to break up the story into more manageable bite sized chunks.

* * *

_

_It seemed too easy_, Holmes reflected as they sat on the sofa. Lestrade had guided him all the way from the medical station, and the bandage around his eyes had to stay there for the next few hours. Even though his sight was gone, Lowell City was safe. "Zed Holmes… the medics said the blindness is temporary."

"But that puts me at a severe disadvantage," Holmes muttered.

"Let me get you some tea," Lestrade said. She got up and went over to the small kitchenette, and started to bustle about getting hot water ready. Tensely he sat, twiddling his thumbs till she returned with a tray and two steaming mugs. Handing one to Sherlock, she said, "There you are."

"Thank you my dear," he said as he clumsily grasped the cup, and she let go of it when he had a good hold. Sipping it gratefully, he sighed with relief.

"Hope its okay,' Lestrade said, unsure of what to do with her hands. She took her cup from the tray, and slowly swirled the tea in the cup.

"Perfect… you fixed it just the way I like it," Holmes said in wonder, facing in the direction of her voice. Their thighs touched and Lestrade reached over to squeeze his hand.

"I'll stay with you… till you're better," she promised.

"One of the members of the gang is still out there," Holmes sighed, taking another sip of tea.

"The Countess?" she asked.

"I think not. Someone who had been near the Wallace, and knew its every move."

"Lernov, right?" she asked.

Having no longer needed their disguises, they both were unmasked. Holmes had removed his outer suit, and now wore shirtsleeves and his customary vest, tie and shoes with spats. For now the bandage wrapped around his eyes, and he seemed to be taking it well. Too well. It hurt her to see the proud detective fumbling in the dark.

"I guess I could take this dress off."

"Keep it," said Holmes. After all I bought it especially for you… and there is no reason to change. It isn't as if I could see you."

"Holmes, when this is over… what happens next?" she asked, swallowing her fear. It was now or never.

"What specifically do you mean?" he asked innocently. Since his eyes were covered she could not see if he was jesting or serious.

"I mean… um if things keep going the way they are… since I am your supervisor… wouldn't that be… against policy?"

"In what manner?" Holmes asked.

"Never mind," Lestrade sighed. "I'm probably imagining things. You were just playing your part."

Holmes reached out to catch her hand before she could get up. She glanced back, as he set the tea down on the table, and pulled her again to his side. A bit of tea splashed up and landed on his lap. Lestrade went to grab a napkin and dab up the moisture, but Holmes stopped her with his hand on hers.

"What about… what happens next… you never specified the subject of your query," Holmes said softly. His nose was only inches from the back of her neck, and she sat upright in shock.

"Well… maybe I'm nuts, but it'd seem like… um… things are different between us, aren't they?" she asked, breath hitting his face.

"Indeed they are," Holmes said with a smirk. "Your question is valid. What next is a subject that may have to wait till the case is solved… but I am growing rather impatient to have it over."

"You… said it bugged you… when I kissed you," she breathed as he slid his arm around her shoulders, and angled his body towards her, face only inches from her. "What did you mean?"

"Before I was interrupted, I was going to explain why," Holmes said irritated. "That the nature of my disturbance was not negative, but rather a most positive one… and it is far more real and far more intriguing of a mystery than any I have tackled till now. In a way that such feelings are evoked… feelings to which I'm unaccustomed."

"Like what for instance?" she breathed, as his hand stroked hers and gave it a squeeze. Her heart pounded in her chest as his breath fluffed up her hair, and her leg was pressed against his a shiver over her entire body.

"It's something difficult to put into words, so a demonstration will suffice," Holmes said with a mischievous smile as he let go of her hand and cupped her cheek with it, while pulling her body close to his with his arm around her shoulders.

Lestrade gasped as she felt the touch of his lips missing hers to land on her nose, then slowly slide down to cover her mouth with their warmth. The incredible sensation of his soft mouth gently caressing hers made her swoon and she thought she would explode with the sudden excitement surging through her body. Caught off guard, she leaned into the kiss after her shock faded, and she moaned softly against his lips as he pulled her closer and tilted her head to the side. It was like that kiss he had stolen in the shuttle only far more deliberate.

Up and down her back he ran his hand, while tunneling his fingers into her hair and rubbing her scalp with soothing touches. She slid her arms around his neck, and fingered his soft sandy blond hair, realizing it was as soft and silky as she had imagined. When they parted after a good few minutes, she could hardly believe this had happened. His fingers caressed her face, held between both hands.

Lestrade kept her arms around his neck, whispering, "Zed… I never thought it could be like this."

"I thought as much," he smiled charmingly. "Which leads me to another topic…the custom of what happens after this point?"

"I don't know what to think," she stammered, leaning toward him as he pulled her close for a second kiss.

No sooner had their lips met than she jolted in his arms. A splintering crash sounded in their ears, and Holmes arms tightened around her protectively.

"There you are!" bellowed Sergey, his face red as he burst through the door, shoulder first. His eyes landed on the two of them and his mouth widened with his eyes.

"Good lord!" Holmes got out. "Don't you ever learn to knock before entering a room? Really!"

"Oh god… not now!" Lestrade cried as Sergey advanced on them.

"Chert vozhmi! You have a lot to answer for…" Sergey growled as Holmes stood up, and thrust Lestrade behind him. Grasping up the cane to his side, he held it before him, waving at the source of the voice.

"And you likewise… to burst in unannounced like a barbarian… what DO you think you're doing?"

"Malishka, I've come to take you away from all this," Sergey said as he rudely swept Holmes aside, and pushed him to the floor.

"Leave us alone!" Lestrade shouted, backhanding him across the face. He looked at her stunned as she held up her ionizer.

"You… strike me... the one who is to rescue you from this? This… relic?" he laughed. "Surely you are mad!"

"You're under arrest," Lestrade said coldly as she covered him with her ionizer, and stood between Holmes who was slowly picking himself up off the floor, and Sergey, who backed away.

"You can still come with me… I will forgive that outburst," Sergey said as he spat blood, his face flaming red where her slap had stung him.

"Get real!" Lestrade snarled, leveling her ionizer. "Put your hands where I can see them…"

"It's over, Sergey… turn yourself in now, or else face the consequences." Holmes said as he stood next to Lestrade, presenting a united front. However Sergey jerked his hand from behind his back while Lestrade reached for her cuffs.

"Nepradva li," he said as he aimed a sonic blaster at them both. "I can wait here all day you two."

"Put the gun down," said Lestrade angrily.

"If you don't surrender, I'll shoot the Detective you seem under the thrall of," said Sergey, aiming his gun at Holmes.

"Lestrade… let me handle this," Holmes said grimly.

"Wait… let him go. And I'll go with you," Lestrade said suddenly. Sherlock shook his head, not believing what he heard.

"Now you're making sense, Maliska," said Sergey as Lestrade threw her ionizer down and walked forwards. He jerked her the rest of the way by her wrist, and held her close to his side while still covering Holmes.

"Lestrade, don't be an idiot!" Holmes cried.

"I'm sorry… it's the only way," she said softly. "I don't want you hurt because of me, Holmes."

"Say goodnight, Detective," he laughed as he backed out of the room and fired. Holmes dodged as the sonic charge loosed and landed inches from where he tumbled out of the way.

"Lestrade!" Holmes shouted as Sergey dragged her away down the hall.

"I won't let you go… not now," he added sadly. He didn't notice a shadow fall across his sightless eyes, and a voice calling his name.

* * *

Watson happened to be standing in the door, glancing anxiously around the room. "Holmes!" he cried, stepping through the door which was charred and singed. Holmes groaned and lifted his head at the sound of his friend's voice. Watson gently helped him to stand, and glanced at the bandage over his eyes. 

"What on earth happened Holmes?" he gasped. "It looks as if there has been a fight… where is Lestrade?"

"We must get after them quickly," Holmes said as he wandered about the room, trying to find his Inverness and other items, though he kept bumping into furniture everywhere in his efforts.

"Who?" Watson asked, glancing around. He scanned the room with his sensors, and waved his hand over several likely places.

"Sergey Lernov, and Lestrade… he's kidnapped her," Holmes said darkly.

"Your eyes," Watson exclaimed as he scanned the bandage.

"Are perfectly fine," Holmes said as he pulled of the bandage. He grimly regarded Watson with a cold gray gaze, filled with anger and worry.

"I shudder to think what has happened to her… if Lernov has captured her… if he's connected to these men…" Watson said as Holmes grabbed his Inverness, deerstalker and cane.

"So do I. I can't let them get away with this… where is the ship you came on?" Holmes asked.

"At the spaceport but it's departed," Watson said sadly.

"Quickly… we must not let them get too far ahead," Holmes said as he rushed down the hall, Watson closely after him. He slipped on his outer garments, and raced to the stairwell as Watson scanned for residual traces of Lernov's DNA and heat pattern. They rushed down to the main level and out of the lobby into the street.

"This way," Watson said.

"There should be a craft… the shuttle that Lestrade and I arrived in," Holmes said as they rushed off towards the spaceport.

"Right…" Watson said. "I do hope it's still there."

* * *


	12. Daring Rescue

**A Study In Solar**

_**Chapter 10**_

_**Edited for grammar and content**_

_Because of all the typos in the original I've reposted an edited version without all the typing mistakes. The extra chapter is to break up the story into more manageable bite sized chunks.

* * *

_

"I knew you'd see reason and come back with me," Sergey leered at Lestrade, who was strapped into her seat.

The shuttle cleared from the bay and rose up into the pink sky, which turning into purple and fiery red as the sun was set. Lestrade shivered at the symbolism, feeling like the sun was setting on her chances of being free of this man.

"Don't flatter yourself," Lestrade snapped. "I only came with you to stop you from doing something even more stupid."

"I will prove to you that we belong together malishka," Sergey insisted.

He gunned the throttle and sending the craft up quickly in altitude. Glancing out the front, she could see the ground receding, and the domes of Lowell city only a tiny set of toys. Soon they drifted out of sight as he headed across the terminator into night.

"How?" she asked. "You've kidnapped an officer of the law, and you're facing multiple charges!"

"Rosschild was an idiot. I did not know he would try to destroy the city generators. That was why I cam to the hotel to see if you had survived. To see if you were all right," Sergey explained.

"Fine way to show your concern," she gritted. "What's in this for you?"

"You, back for one thing," he answered, and she shivered in fear. "And a lot of money from insurance settlements and a tidy sum for trade."

"Why?" she asked.

"My parents business is flagging. Solar power is threatening to outdo hydrogen fusion. My father has a major stake in that, which cannot be pushed aside by these flimsy toys of the rich… so what better than to undermine solar shipping?"

"So you're trying to ruin solar shipping? Why destroy the Wallace?" Lestrade demanded.

"Rosschild wanted to claim the insurance for himself. When I found out you were on the ship I sent the very team that rescued you and your detective. I saved your lives… from the one who masterminded this scheme," laughed Sergey.

"Who was it Sergey… if you tell me, I'll put in a good word for you," Lestrade offered.

"I think not, Malishka," he laughed. "You're never need to know their identity."

"You're impossible… you know what they'll do to you when they catch us?" Lestrade gasped. She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut at the scenario running worst case through her brain.

"When we leave with millions of credits, and I make the necessary changes to our DNA and use false Ids, we can hide anywhere… in the Solar System," Sergey chuckled. He pointed to the forward viewport, with a sweep of his hand.

Glancing where he indicated Lestradesaw the two moons of Mars. They weremere asteroids pockmarked with multiple craters, slowly orbiting cross the path. Sergey halted the drive, and drifted on inertia alone toward the closer moon. Up from the sunlit surface she saw a gleaming flash, and saw it was a docking cradle.

Expertly Sergey maneuvered the ship on thrusters to land inside, and lock against the clamps. Slowly the cradle sank into the black dust covered surface. As the trap door closed overhead, she felt as if she was descending into hell itself.

"Welcome to my hideaway… which will be the place of our consummation," he said wistfully. He reached over and unclipped her belt, while training the gun on her.

He then instructed, "Get up; slowly… there is artificial gravity on the ship, and in the base. Nothing but the best for us."

"All right, whatever you say," Lestrade swallowed the lump in her throat. She felt a sinking sensation that she might never see her friends or family again. Not to mention Sherlock Holmes and Watson.

She reluctantly got up, seeing the sonic blaster aimed at her chest. He pushed her ahead of him, walking her into the back of the ship, and the door opened onto a transparent tube leading away from a docking hanger. The gravity under their feet was almost Earth normal, and she wondered how much it cost to keep the field going.

Down a long hallway illuminated with pale blue lights they marched, till a round hatch opened onto a large chamber. Lights flashed on, and she gasped to see the sizable cavern, hewn out of the asteroid's heart. A bank of screens occupied one far wall, and she noticed passages winding out from the main room.

Just ahead was an entryway, which ended in a sumptuous sitting room with walnut coffee table, Persian rugs and overstuffed sofa and armchairs. Moving her into one of the armchairs, he fished out handcuffs and latched her into place. He also latched her legs together with a second pair, and stood across from her.

"There you will sit and think about your choices," he said finally. "I shall be back."

Lestrade struggled against the cuffs as Sergey wandered over to the bank of screens and computer terminals. It looked like the central record station of New Scotland Yard, with at least three terminals. He punched up various views including a rangefinder, and screens showing multiple approach vectors.

"You'll be sorry that you did this," Lestrade said.

"Who will be here to find you?" he laughed.

* * *

Meanwhile, Holmes and Watson tensely flew towards the source of the ion trail. Watson announced,"The trail ends here, according to my sensors." 

"That must be Phobos," Holmes muttered, trying to access his recent study of astronomy.

"Accessing… there is no record of any habitation currently on Phobos, although an operational science station exists on Deimos. There was one built ten years ago here, but it was abandoned."

"Not so abandoned apparently," Holmes said gravely. He unclipped his seat belt and walked to the back of the craft. "Take us as close as you can Watson."

"Be careful, Holmes," Watson urged.

He maneuvered the craft closer. Then Watson pressed buttons to activate the jammer, a device very similar to that which Rossini had used. Holmes worked his way into the space suit, and approached the air lock. Watson put the ship into drift mode as they rounded the dark side of the asteroid moon.

"If I'm not back in a half hour, come after me." Holmes urged him. "But be wary… we may well be detected by now."

"Make sure you know what you're doing… I don't like you going in alone."

"Someone has to alert the authorities," Holmes said. "You're my second… should anything go wrong."

Watson opened the door to the airlock, and Holmes stepped in, swinging his visor down. The door clanged shut, and a few moments later the air pressurized to the vacuum of space.

As Holmes watched the outer door slide open, he gasped at the myriad stars burning in a velvet black sky. The limb of Mars obscured the lower half of his view, swirling with dust storms. He fired an air compressor gun and it shot a dart towards the surface of the moon, trailing a rope behind. Clipping one end to his suit, he pulled himself along the tether, while having most of the slack attached to the ship.

Closer and closer the moon approached, till he saw its black powder covered surface. The small detector in his other hand flickered to the ion trail's source. Carefully he pulled himself along the surface of the moon, watching the detector for any sign of an entrance. Black dust kicked up, and he weighed only a few measly ounces. Only the special pitons on his boots kept him from launching himself into orbit with a misplaced step.

* * *

"The fools think they can sneak up on me?" Lernov laughed as a beeping alerted him to the ship's presence. 

"Probably someone who got lost," Lestrade said weakly, as she felt her resistance fading.

"Nepradva li," said Sergey, punching buttons of the various views on his tracker. A clear blip was visible, though the cameras showed only a blurring static.

"They've found you. You might as well give up now," Lestrade said with a slight smile.

"It will do them no good," Lernov said gravely. "They cannot help you now… if they are no longer around to do so.

"What are you doing?" Lestrade gasped, as he punched more buttons, and she noticed crosshairs focusing on the small ping. "No! Don't do it!"

Lernov focused in, and held his hand over the button. With a slow smile he pressed the flat switch, and Lestrade saw a beam stream across the visual scanner. A bright blinding flash lit up the screen for a moment, and Lestrade felt her heart suddenly crack from grief. Numbness spread over her body after the pain, and she ground her teeth in sheer anger and rage.

"Murderer!" she screamed. Sergey wandered over, approaching her as she thrashed in her chair, eyes blue fire piercing him.

"You see, stay with me, and live. If you try to escape, or if anyone tries to come and take you away, they will be as easily dealt with as these unfortunate souls," he shook his head, reaching for her cheek.

She jerked her head away, closing her eyes tightly. How could she face a life with Sergey on the run with Holmes, one of the few bright spots of hope in this mess suddenly extinguished in an instant?

"Oh god no!" she gasped.

"Ya she govoril. Do you not see that you belong to me?" Sergey asked, grabbing her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze.

"No… never!" she spat in his face.

"You should be nice to me… otherwise I may lose my temper. I have been patient," he said as he raised his hand and was about to bring it across her face.

"She was never yours for the past two years, and she most certainly is not yours now!" shouted a voice that Lestrade thought she never would hear again. Lernov's head snapped up as he gazed at the figure wearing a long Inverness and hat he'd sworn he'd seen before.

"Chert! You… I saw you destroyed!" he shook his head. "What does it take to get RID of you?"

"The rumors of my demise are greatly exaggerated," Holmes said as he advanced on them. "Now… step away from the lady, very slowly, or suffer the consequences of your unspeakable acts…"

"I grew tired of this game… Detective," Sergey gritted, backing away from Lestrade. She smiled up at him, through her tears, relief in her eyes. His blue gaze met hers, anger and concern clearly there in his face, and outrage for what had been done.

"So do I!" said Holmes.

"Look out he's got a gun!" Lestrade shrieked, as Sergey covered Holmes and fired. He dodged to the side as the sonic beam crashed and caused the sofa to explode.

"You're quick, Detective… but that will not save you," Sergey taunted, eyes gleaming with the thrill of the fight.

"Only a coward would hide behind a gun… and fight an uneven battle," Holmes called out. "Are you man enough to face me without your toys?"

"Man enough to deal with you," Sergey gritted, tossing the gun aside.

He advanced on Holmes, who held his cane in defensive posture. Both men circled, staring each other down. Lestrade glanced anxiously around the room, feeling anger at her helplessness. Like it or not, he would fight for her.

Sergey attacked first, swinging a right cross at Holmes. He dodged out of the way, and moved to the left. Sergey then changed his tactics, sweeping out his foot to try and trip the Detective.

Holmes simply leapt over the leg sweep, and swung a quick swipe that connected with Sergey's cheek. It was but a bee sting as Sergey's left jab thrust forwards and Holmes easily blocked it with his right hand. Holding the cane before him in both hands, he shoved it towards Sergey, who backed away, and then turned on his toe to launch a roundhouse kick. Holmes ducked under the swath, and snagged Sergey's other foot with the crook of his cane, and then landed a punch to his solar plexus. Surprised, Sergey was momentarily winded.

His next punch connected with Holmes' shoulder, and the detective sent his fist cracking into Sergey's face, point blank. Blood dribbled from his nose as another punch, with the brunt of the cane snapped into his jaw. The Russian soldier thrust his hand forwards, while holding his nose, and Holmes barely moved out the way in time. The shot from Sergey's palm grazed his cheek, and knocked him off balance. His cane swung and landed in Sergey's chest, but was brushed easily aside. Another punch winded Holmes in the chest, and he staggered back, holding his stomach.

"You can't hope to win… I'm stronger and faster…neprdva li?" Sergey panted. Compared to Holmes, the Russian was hardly breaking a sweat.

"Perhaps not!" Holmes shouted as he leapt up onto the coffee table.

Sergey leaned down and flipped it up. Holmes again jumped, and launched himself on the edge of the table as it crashed over, and flipped over Sergey's head. Before he could react, he dropped the cane, held in both hands before Sergey's neck, and yanked backwards, using his own weight to put pressure on his windpipe.

Sergey gasped as Holmes pulled back on the cane, and hooked the breath while he grabbed it and tried to throw him over his shoulders. Lestrade hopped and dragged her chair across the room hoping to get to the control panel as the two fought. She rocked till the chair crashed on its side and the sonic blaster was within her reach.

"Now we end this," Sergey leered. With a last burst of strength he flipped Holmes over his shoulders and slammed him into the far wall. Dazedly Holmes shook his head and Sergey advanced upon him, cracking his knuckles.

Lestrade desperately closed her hand around the gun's handle, and jammed it into an upright position. Holmes couldn't center his concentration, and his body ached as he saw Sergey advancing on him. Time seemed to stand still. As Sergey came within two feet of Holmes, Lestrade squeezed the trigger, hoping her angle was high enough to save Holmes.

"It ends now you monster," she gritted.

Sergey clutched his stomach, groaning as his insides churned from the force of the sonic blast. It seemed as if the pit of his gut was on fire, and spread all over his body. His legs buckled and he crashed to the floor, not far from where Holmes lay.

Slowly Holmes crawled over to where Lestrade lay on her side, realizing that the blast had come from her. She let the gun fall out of her hand, and lay limp, closing her eyes. Letting her body finally collapse into weariness, she let herself cry.

* * *

"Scotland yard!" shouted Watson's familiar voice. Sergey moaned and lay on his side, unable to stand up. 

"Arrest that man!" Holmes cried as he reached Lestrade. "He's one of the perpetrators!"

Watson rushed over and aimed his stun ray, bathing Sergey in a red glow that subdued him. Taking out a pair of cuffs from his utility cache he flipped the criminal on his belly and cuffed his hands behind his back. "Good Lord Holmes what happened?"

"Lestrade… it's all right," Holmes whispered.

The Detectivecaught the key Watson tossed him and slowly unlocked Lestrade's cuffs. She rolled out of the chair and collapsed into his arms, hugging him tightly. Holmes held her close, his eyes shutting as he did not want to let her go. Watson rushed over to where they huddled on the floor, and leaned over them both in concern.

"I think we had best leave him for the authorities," he said. "Are you two all right?"

"We're safe and well," Holmes panted, shaking his head. "But that's more than I can say for that unspeakable abomination."

"I'd best take a look at you both. Your body temperatures are plunging below normal… most likely shock."

"Watson, I was never so glad to see you in my life," Lestrade gulped as she quivered against Holmes. With Watson's help, they both stood up shakily, leaning on one another. It was over… at long last. Or was it? There was still one more collaborator out there, and Holmes hated loose ends.

* * *


	13. Epilogue

**A Study In Solar**

_**Epilogue**_

By Trynia Merin

_Note t hat this story has a few more chapters so I could divide up the story into more manageable chunks! This story has also been edited for grammar and typos!

* * *

_

On the space liner that hurtled back to Earth, Lestrade sat with a picture album in her hand. Unlike the albums with paper pages into which people tucked pictures with sticky tape, it was a flat screen with sounds that could be recorded with each image, called up by the down or up arrow. The date for each image was inscribe on the top of each picture. Lestrade sighed as she held her finger over the 'delete' button.

"Inspector, I am most concerned about your emotional state," said Watson kindly as he sat down next to her on the liner, which was only half filled with returning passengers from Lowell City.

"Huh, oh hi Watson," she said, as he lay his hand on her shoulder.

"You seemed very flat whilst you delivered the report to Chief Inspector Florseau on the Colony," he said. Glancing up from a magazine, the man with the question mark pullover glanced at them, and shook his head in sadness. Opposite him sat Sherlock Holmes, who had steepled his fingers and was listening to a recording of Faust.

The man shoved Holmes with the end of his umbrella, saying, "Pardon me, but do you know what time it is?"

Holmes opened his eyes and glanced at the stranger, as he removed his headphones, "Pardon me sir, but I do wish to maintain my solitude..."

"You should be over there, with your colleagues," the man said, setting down his magazine, and sipping the milkshake at his tray table.

"You are called Doctor, are you not?" Sherlock Holmes raised an eyebrow. "I saw you on the station. You even had a few words did you not, during the investigation? I am surprised to see you here on Mars."

"Are you just humoring me, Mr. Holmes?" The Doctor asked. "You did very well. I was half hoping I didn't have to step in. But seems that things worked out after all..."

"I was thinking that you'd mention the case... and I have the distinct feeling we have met before, in a previous lifetime..."

"Elementary, my Dear Holmes," said the Doctor in a Scottish/English accent. "Mel mentioned you to me, whilst I popped down for a visit. Seems you made quite an impression on the Scottish Anachronistic Society..."

"Melanie was indeed your acquaintance then," Holmes said slowly. "And no doubt you remained behind then to insure her safety and assist with the restoration of the power on the Resort..."

"And how did you deduce that?" the Doctor said with an amused smirk.

Holmes chuffed with equal amusement, steepling his fingers. He began his chain of reasoning, "Simple. Your penchant, if you are who I think you are, is for assisting those in need, not in engaging in idle goose chases. Also, since you knew I was on the station, and considering that I had checked the logs of all guests registered, and knowing that Dr. John Smith was a common enough name... I deduced you were traveling under a pseudonym."

"You're only warming up, I see," the Doctor smiled, resting his hands on the handle of his umbrella.

Holmes continued, "Also I had seen recognition in the eyes of Miss Melanie Bush, and I did see you at the Robert Burns dinner, keeping a discreet distance as if you were observing the situation. And I have seen that behavior before... in the previous lifetime. Also, the presence of a large oblong box resembling a Police Box, which is doubtless in the cargo hold of the ship, and not part of the decor, I came to the conclusion that you and I have met before. In 19th century England, no doubt. You cannot escape my reasoning, Doctor..." Holmes said with a slight smile. "Therefore the theories that a rather misunderstood gentleman, H.G. Wells are correct since you are here in the 22nd century."

"Astounding. But you haven't addressed my question," said the Doctor.

"Doubtless, you seem anxious to inquire why I am not with my companions," said Holmes.

"That's the first obvious question," the Doctor nodded.

Holmes cleared his throat, and ticked off on his fingers, "I could ask you why you did not assist me in the disaster at Lowell city, having heard legends of your involvement in other affairs and I could only deduce that you were otherwise occupied... and since your skills tend to range in many advanced sciences, they must have been of great benefit in restoring solar power to most of the places affected by the Solarex Crisis."

"A good piece of reasoning, but yet you still continue to avoid my question," the Doctor shook his head.

"If you must know, perhaps you can deduce it," Holmes said with a smirk. "Since you are a man of science."

"First, I sense that you and the Inspector are avoiding each other. That would suggest that a certain emotional situation of some discomfort has happened between you, and you are avoiding her, so as not to cause her further trauma," said the Doctor.

"Oh really?" Holmes snickered.

The Doctor leaned forwards, eyes twinkling with the same merriment of their game of wits. He coughed, and resumed his diatribe, "Considering her reaction to your assistant Watson, she is seeking solace in the company of a 'neutral' yet partly involved third party. While you could be comforting her or summing up the case, you isolate yourself in your usual manner. Therefore I can only deduce that you have crossed an invisible line, and are rather taken with the Inspector. Not wishing to create a 'scene' you refrain from any contact till you return to Earth. And since this IS a long flight..."

"Enough," Holmes said slowly. His features darkened, face wrinkling into a scowl. "My reasons are my own."

"I admire your upholding of your Victorian Ideals. Perhaps in this case, caution IS warranted," said the Doctor. "But you cannot avoid one another forever."

"No, perhaps not," Holmes said slowly.

"Don't look so gloomy," said the Doctor.

Holmes snorted, and then admitted sheepishly, "But I do recall the Inspector saying she did not wish to cause me harm. And I do not wish to cause her emotional distress by a greater degree of emotional closeness than that shared between two co-workers, or two close friends. She has suffered a traumatic emotional experience, and I do not wish to add to it."

"She admires you. Perhaps if you simply break out of your imposed exile and recall you ARE a member of the human race, it may HELP the situation."

"You who travel from place to place are one to talk," Holmes said darkly.

"But as an observer, I know when opportunities like this are missed, and regrets are eternal," said the Doctor.

"Be that as it may," Holmes said.

The Doctor continued, "And just because you ARE from a different time gives you NO excuse to isolate yourself from your friends because you feel discomfort facing issues that may challenge your tidy notion of human relationships."

"Perhaps, but it hampers my effectiveness," Holmes countered weakly.

"Get down off your intellectual high horse, and get yourself over there. You can at LEAST give her your friendship. How do you KNOW that she wants anything more than that? My guess is, and I see you shuddering at it, Holmes," the Doctor shook his head in disgust.

"Can you blame me? You're a scientist. Can you let emotion cloud your judgment?"

"What do you fear most? That she wants more. But in fact, by exercising your restraint you could be the BEST thing for her? Your partnership is essential to stopping that which was set in motion by Fenwick's genetic tinkering. And since SHE brought you back, you owe her a greater debt than you could repay," the Doctor shook his head.

"You have made your point. Doubtless you know far more than I gave you credit for. But I shall resolve my own problems in my own time."

"How you do so is up to you," the Doctor waved him away dismissively.

"How convenient an answer for one giving advice," Holmes taunted him.

The Doctor chuckled knowingly, "But I'll give you a hint. Jeopardize your relationship with both now, and you may come to regret it later. But you walk a fine line between remaining aloof and uncaring, but helping without pushing too fast into a relationship to which she may need time and you too, to consider."

"Very well," said Holmes as he rose and hesitated before crossing the isle. Lestrade was wistfully showing Watson the contents of her Academy photo album, fighting back tears. Watson had taken her hand and was patting it gently as he handed her a tissue.

"Damn Watson, it just doesn't go away... does every part of my past come back and bite me?" Lestrade asked.

"Suffice to say, you cannot be responsible for those who have misconceptions about where they stand with you," said Watson.

"But he could figure OUT a way to get what he wants," said Lestrade. "And when I thought you had been destroyed because of me... and a loose end."

"Lestrade, may I join you and Watson?" Holmes asked as he sat across from them.

"I thought you were reposing," Watson said with surprise.

"I simply thought it was rather... unnecessary of me when it seemed that there were some loose ends that you may wish to discuss, Lestrade?" Holmes asked as he rested both hands on his cane.

Lestrade flushed bright red. "Um," she got out.

"I know it was difficult, facing Lernov," said Holmes as he reached across and lay his hand on hers, over Watson's. "And it will require a good amount of time to heal past hurts. But be assured Watson and I will be on hand to assist in whatever way we can. And we still have the business of the last conspirator to chase down..."

Lestrade glanced at him, her face full of questions. Holmes held up his hand to silence them, gently as he continued, "Let me simply face those topics we brought up previously as something to wait, till we are both ready to face them... shall we? If that is your choice, I only wish the situation to be the most comfortable and to the timing of your liking... after all, these things must be approached with the utmost caution."

"I guess that would be the best way," she sighed. "But I don't think we can avoid it for long."

Watson knew better than to interrupt them, seeing the awkwardness in both their faces. Holmes drew in a deep breath as he said, "WE must devote all our energies to the case. If you wish, Watson and I can take over the spearheading of the investigation, so you can deal with whatever unresolved issues that are troubling you... regarding your personal involvement..."

"That's sweet of you, but I am still on the case. I doubt that whoever is LEFT is as closely involved," said Lestrade firmly. "And I don't want to sit back and nurse my 'wounds' when I have a job to do. I don't HAVE that luxury, Holmes. There is a crime in progress, and I'm bound to see it through."

"Then we face it together, my dear Lestrade, and my Dear Watson," Holmes nodded as he pressed both their hands.

"Most undoubtedly," Watson nodded.

"Yes," Lestrade nodded.

Holmes handed her his handkerchief, and she dried away her angry tears. She saw Holmes' unspoken answer to the question they both faced, and could tell things would have to wait. But in a way she was glad. After the discomfort that had risen to the surface regarding an abusive past relationship, it would be difficult to trust anyone who wanted to engage in a relationship of the same physical and emotional intimacy. Victorian Chivalry would perhaps have an odd, but appropriate role to play. Yet he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and neither was she. After all, he had taken a step out of his usual behavior by even coming as close as he did.

She slowly slipped off the prop ring, and handed it back to Holmes who slipped it into his pocket. There was a bit of a flush on the tips of his ears as he started to change the subject, and map out where they would find their next perpetrator of the Nusolar/Solarex case.

The Doctor nodded slowly at the scene; not sure if it was the best, but he knew that sometimes there was a time to push history along, and a time to butt out. It was difficult being a Time Lord, but in the end rewarding. However he did sense that they had not seen the last of Lernov, and that perhaps he may be providing Holmes with more assistance sooner then the reanimated Detective may think.

* * *

Meanwhile Lernov gritted his teeth as the police ship bore him toward the Lunar Penal Colony. Pending trial, he would either be crypnotized or imprisoned for life. His chances since he faced court marshal didn't seem that good. After all he had done for his Malishka, was his thanks?

There was no justice, he thought to himself as he rested his head in his hands in the bare cell. Other prisoners kept to themselves, but there came a knock on the door. It slid open, and the guard said, "Lernov, the lawyer you requested is here. Keep it short…"

Lernov raised his head from his hands and saw the man enter, his long legs carrying him into the room. His hair was long and black, curling over his shoulders, and the hat he wore was anachronistic, broad brimmed, along with the sunglasses concealing his eyes. However, he wondered as the man shoed away the other prisoners, and folded his long coat under his bottom as he sat next to Lernov.

"I did not recall asking for a lawyer to visit me on the ship… nepradva li?" Lernov said as he glanced at the man. "Who are you?"

"Mr. Mortimer," he said clearly. "Esquire. The looks of this case, you're going to need the best help."

"I do not speak to a man I cannot see in the face," Lernov sniffed as he drew up stiffly. "It is a matter of pride."

"You are an intelligent man," said the lawyer as he took off his hat, and lifted his glasses. "And I think that I can cut you a deal that will make BOTH of us benefit. I have connections, which can commute your sentence…"

"Is that so?" Lernov asked.

"Indeed. You seek to get even with the man who put you here, right?" said the newcomer.

"What does a lawyer know of evening the score?" asked Lernov.

"Those fools do not know my true identity," he leaned close. "If you trust me, I can get you your freedom, and as much power and money as you could want."

"What must I do?" Lernov asked. "What is in it for me?"

"A full pardon, and a chance to get back at Sherlock Holmes, and get your woman back?" the man raised his eyebrow.

"You are not who you say you are, nepradva li?" Sergey twisted his lip in a grin.

"Let me give you a name. Does Professor Moriarty ring a bell?"

"Someone whose genius I admire?" Sergey laughed.

"You see him before you now," whispered Professor Moriarty.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, sir," Sergey nodded, reaching up to clasp his hand. His eyes gleamed with respect and deference.

"What about it? Work for me?" an amused Moriarty whispered, leaning close.

"You have yourself a deal, if you can get me out… and get my Malishka back," Sergey said as he shook Moriarty's hand.

"Just bide your time… and wait for my signal," the Professor smiled.

"And then what?" Sergey asked.

Moriarty glanced at the pocket watch he pulled out of his coat pocket. He flicked open the silver top half ornately carved with a woodland scene. "There is going to be an accident in oh… one hour… and I have a life pod on deck 7 that is coded for your escape."

"And how do I get out of here, with my wits alone?" Sergey chuckled gloomily. "What a high opinion you have of me, unless you have an alternative."

Clicking shut his pocket watch, Moriarty replaced it. He patted his pockets, and then removed a small calculator sized device with a keypad, that resembled a jammer. In his other hand he retrieved a slim metallic pistol. He said, "Naturally. This device will enable you to scramble the door… and here is your sonic blaster."

"Spaceeba," he whispered as Moriarty passed him the sonic blaster. Sergey slipped it under his pillow alongside the jammer.

Replacing his hat and sunglasses, he pressed Sergey's hand. With a smile on his face, Sergey lay out on his bunk and waited. This would be MOST interesting. Working for the Napoleon of Crime… this day had suddenly improved considerably.

* * *

The End… for now! 


End file.
